


it's the most wonderful time of the year

by finaljoy



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Holidays, Not Canon Compliant, Romantic Comedy, felicity smoak is a darling and a delight, oliver queen is a precious mess, running away from problems, this is a total rom com and i'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 84,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5070583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finaljoy/pseuds/finaljoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lying to her family about having a boyfriend seemed like a good idea to Felicity at the time. Hiring an escort to fake being her boyfriend seemed like less of a good idea, but Oliver was a reasonable fit and she didn't have time to think of anything else, so with an escort she went. Besides, it would only be for Thanksgiving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a great plan

Felicity power-walked down the sidewalk, trying to convince herself that this was a genius plan and that she didn't need to back out right, right now. Because it was a good plan, it was a great plan. Barring the complexity of a lie, it was perfect. She was hiring some guy to be her boyfriend for Thanksgiving so she didn't have to deal with her family's nagging. It was totally genius and not illegal and earned her some comparative peace for the holidays. Great plan. And it was okay anxiety butterflies were assaulting her stomach over it

Felicity reminded herself she was wearing her Strong Woman shoes, had on one of her favorite shirts, and that her makeup was more capable than flirty. She could walk into this meeting with her head held high. She was the boss here. She set the tone.

She pulled open the door to the café and scanned the room for the man she was supposed to meet. They had been emailing back and forth over the last week and he had said that he would be wearing a brown leather jacket and a blue shirt. Felicity skimmed the artistically grubby writer types, the families tucked into the corner booths, the couple of elderly men at the bar— She saw a brown leather jacket slug over the back of a chair, which was occupied by a man wearing a navy shirt. She took a deep breath and strode over.

"Oliver? Oliver Dearden?" It was perhaps a tiny miracle that she did not sound ready to bolt.

The man turned around in his chair, eyebrows raised in surprise. Oh, he was hot. Not attractive but grossly, obnoxiously, unfairly hot. He was rocking the whole rugged good looks thing, with his short blond hair and scruff and Felicity noticed he looked very, very fit.

Oh great, there's your plan defenestrating itself this very second. It was great, except you didn't consider your guy being ten times more attractive than you!

"Felicity Smoak?" he asked, standing up as he spoke. Felicity was almost too distracted by how huge he was to notice the proffered hand.

"Ah, yes," she managed, giving his hand a quick pump. She sat down opposite him, draping her coat and bag on the back of the chair. He settled back into his seat and they examined each other for a second. Then Oliver tilted his head.

"I might as well say this is…an unusual job offer."

"Yes, I know," she blurted, then dug her fingers into her thighs. She could do this. "I mean, I've never really heard of anyone else…doing something like this."

She grimaced and tried to compose herself. Their only correspondence had been through email, so she had never had to deal with actually looking at him while they spoke. She also had the luxury of editing herself before she sent off whatever she wanted to say. This was going to be challenging.

"No," he agreed, and maybe Felicity was being paranoid, but she was certain Oliver was hiding a smile.

A waiter stopped at their table and the two of them quickly ordered drinks to make him go away (Felicity also took the liberty of ordering a cinnamon roll, because she was nervous and she deserved sugar). She was thankful for the distraction he posed, though. If she could get a little more time, she would be able to ignore her nerves and Oliver's unnecessarily attractive face and deal with this like a normal person.

"I'd like to go over the details, just to make sure we have the same idea," Oliver said, cutting into her thoughts.

"Oh, yeah, sure." Felicity cleared her throat and glanced back up at him. His eyelashes were too long for words. But she needed to focus and focus right now, so she took another deep breath. "What, uh, what exactly were you unsure about?"

"What my purpose is. 'Platonic boyfriend' is a little…contradicting."

"Okay, well, that's it? I mean, what I'm asking you to do, what the job description is, is to just be my boyfriend for Thanksgiving."

Yep, that was delivered exactly like a normal person.

"Yes," Oliver said, dragging the word out as if to say that he didn't want to be rude, but he did in fact know why he was there. Why was she even doing this, why was she even interviewing a guy to be her boyfriend? She needed to leave that table and that man right away. "But what exactly does that mean? How did you end up in this situation?"

Felicity grimaced, closed her eyes, and tried again. "I…somehow ended up telling my extended family that I was dating a guy and it kind of snow balled, so I need someone to show them at Thanksgiving. It's just for the night, but you'll be pretending to be my boyfriend of a few months. And now I'm asking you to please take pity on me."

Oliver tilted his head again and there was definitely a smile hiding on his lips. She would have been annoyed if she hadn't been so embarrassed and if that smile wasn't devilishly handsome.

"So this is all for your obnoxious extended family?"

"Yes. After Thanksgiving, you can go on your merry way."

The waiter returned with their drinks and Felicity's cinnamon roll, and then they were again alone. Oliver leaned back in his chair, fully contemplating her. He had agreed to help her, but she still felt nervous. He could still back out at any time, no money or proper information had been exchanged. She really hoped he wouldn't, because Felicity didn't exactly have time to search for and interview another male escort. But, despite her hideously awkward start nothing too terrible had happened, so she was hopeful.

"You know…this isn't what I normally do."

"Yes, I totally understand. I mean, we're not going to be hav—I mean, if you're uncomfortable with how personal this is, that's completely fine," Felicity babbled, then clicked her teeth shut. She had been half a breath from saying that he was probably more comfortable with jobs ending in mindless sex than actually doing something of substance. It was only great good luck that had kept her from insulting him so much that he got up and walked out of the room altogether.

Felicity knew that Oliver had caught her near miss, though. His polite expression tightened, ever so slightly, and she could have sworn his eyes narrowed just enough to ask her if she really wanted to pick that fight. But then it was gone. A heartbeat later, his smile was as bland as ever and he still sitting there, thumb running along the edge of his glass.

"What are you expecting me to do as your boyfriend?"

"Hm?" Felicity straightened, surprised by his question. She chewed a piece of cinnamon roll to keep herself from rambling further, then answered his question. "Uhm, nothing gross? Oh geez, I mean, no…bedrooming, okay? This is going to stay completely platonic. You just…" Felicity trailed off, not certain if 'arm candy' was considered offensive. "You play nice, tell how we met, be rude to Uncle Gary because he was too cheap to send me a graduation present, both times. Be yourself, just…as my boyfriend."

"What are you planning on telling them after Thanksgiving when I'm no longer there?" He seemed genuinely curious, the slightly stilted air disappearing from his voice.

"Oh, well, that's the easy bit. We'll naturally fall apart around January or so, or, if they really liked you, I'll catch you cheating or something in a few months. Then we breakup and I'll have enough sympathy to ride out until at least the summer," Felicity said, then frowned. "I'm sorry you're the bad guy, here."

He shrugged, a smile tugging at one side of his mouth. It didn't seem very real.

"It's fine with me. I won't be around to be angry at, after all."

"Right. So…uhm, any further questions?"

"Yes, actually," he said, resting his elbows on the table and giving her a completely unfair, charming grin. It was like he had flicked on a light in his smile and he was suddenly warm and complimentary and unreasonably becoming. "How'd you find me? I'm not with an agency."

"Oh, you know, through a friend," Felicity said, then closed her mouth. It felt exceptionally awkward to give an identity to one of the women who had bought Oliver before. Bought Oliver's time. By which she totally meant the pleasure of his company. Which was not cheap and buyable, but more a loan or generous barter system.

Felicity let out a long breath.

She was getting better and better at this.

Oliver glanced up at her like she hadn't just had a rapid fire mental meltdown. His smile was now slightly sardonic, like his true emotions were fighting against that look of picturesque charm.

"Right. But why me?"

"You fit the bill," she said simply. "I told my family I was dating someone tall, athletic, and pleasant. When I told my friend of a friend…they directed me to you. Gotta be totally honest, though, I didn't expect all of…this?"

Oliver smothered another smile at her glancing him over in slight confusion. Then he straightened, and was instantly all business. "Alright. So what are the rules for me?"

"So a lot of this stuff we're going to have to address as it comes up, just because I honestly cannot predict my family for the life of me," Felicity said, getting the sense that she had finally returned to solid ground. "Basically, it's this. You can drink, but no getting drunk. I'll drive. No playing poker with Uncle Wyatt; he cheats. His girlfriend Siobhan is worse. You can swear, but not in front of the kids. Grandma Jodie isn't my grandma and you have full license to be a bitch to her."

Oliver raised an eyebrow, and Felicity shifted in her seat.

"I have a big family and a lot of feelings."

"I see. Back to the platonic part. How much is too much?"

"Oh, hm," Felicity said, a little surprised at how straightforward he was, especially after her 'nothing gross' comment. Then again, this was his job. She bought herself some time by taking a drink, thinking it over. "Obviously we're not going to be complete icebergs toward each other, you know, we can kiss but more like a peck than anything. No making out, no groping me. And my legs are completely off limits."

"Okay," he chuckled and took a sip from his drink. "What about clinging?"

Felicity stared at him with a baffled look. Oliver closed his eyes and sighed. A self-deprecating smile was on his lips as he corrected himself.

"I mean, cuddling. What about cuddling?"

"That is…okay, I guess? I mean, whatever fits in the moment. Same rules apply, though."

"That just leaves you briefing me on us, then."

"Us? Oh, yes, us!" she said, snapping her fingers. Felicity reached into her purse and pulled out a folder. "In here is all you need to know about me and what I've said about you."

"You remember all of that?"

"The moment I said 'Yeah, Grandma, I have a boyfriend!' was the moment I knew I had to keep notes," Felicity explained, watching him flip through the small stack of papers as she dug around for her tablet. "I didn't tell them much about you, just the vague details I mentioned earlier. Nothing about your job, where you're from, or even how old you are."

"Twenty-seven," he said absently.

"Oh, okay. I'm twenty-two. When's your birthday?" she asked, pausing in her search for her tablet. Five years. She could handle that.

"May. May 16th," he said, looking up. "And you?"

"September 3rd."

Oliver nodded and glanced back at the papers.

"That only has the fine details," Felicity said. "There's other stuff I was just going to tell you."

"Hm?" he asked, tipping his head up but not looking at her.

"Well, I'm Jewish, for one. My dad's out of the picture, I graduated MIT at nineteen—" Oliver glanced up at her, eyebrows raised, but didn't interrupt "—I work in IT, and I hate kangaroos."

"Anything else?"

"Apple is an overrated cult."

"Good to know," he chuckled, flipping a page.

"And you?" she prompted. Her tablet was now set up, primed for whatever he would tell her. His birthday was already the first prim little line on the new document.

"Well, I don't know," he sighed. Oliver leaned back in his chair, studying her. Felicity suddenly had the impression she was the one being interviewed. It felt distinctly less than awesome.

"I'm from Starling. I have a little sister, my father died a few years back. I don't have a car."

Felicity blinked, unsure what to tackle first. Of course, the words that came tumbling from her mouth were, "I have a Mini."

Oliver blinked. "What?"

"A Mini. I have a Mini Cooper. It's red and super cute. I feel like I could put it in my pocket." She pretended to drop something the size of a coin into an imaginary pocket, complete with sound effect. When she looked up, Oliver was staring.

Felicity licked her lips. "Just trying to comment on what I can help with."

He continued staring, then broke into the first real smile of the meeting. "Thank you, then."

Felicity nodded awkwardly, then cleared her throat.

"Any…anything else?"

"Nope."

"Alrighty, then. I guess…I guess we'll see each other on Thanksgiving, then. My phone number's in the folder in case you need to contact me. But…otherwise, let's meet back here at noon, okay? We need to drive to my aunt's house and that's about an hour trip."

"Okay," he said, nodding and closing the folder. "Thanksgiving, noon, fake boyfriend."

"Yes. And Oliver?"

He paused in standing up and gave her a wide-eyed, honest look of questioning. Felicity dragged in a breath, wondering if that was the first move he hadn't carefully considered since she had sat down.

"I hope I didn't offend you with the 'no gross stuff' comment. Another thing about me is that I have a terrible tendency to word vomit all over people in completely unadulterated Felicity headspace waves, and I'm sorry ahead of time for any atrociously uncomfortable or unintentionally insensitive things I say to or around you. But," she said, taking a deep breath, "do know that I absolutely did not mean to insult you, or belittle you for your work, or anything. I just…I don't want any of the physical stuff. That's not what I'm looking for. I hope you understand."

"Of course," Oliver said, and he sounded really, truly genuine. "One thing that I have learned is to respect other people's limits. If I ever cross a line, please. Tell me."

Felicity nodded at him, still fighting the dregs of embarrassment at her ramble and also wondering what had caused that sudden sincerity in his voice. She held out her hand and Oliver shook it once.

"This will be fun," Felicity said, trying to reassure herself. "Just a whole lot of fun."


	2. it wouldn't be easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you guys, I am absolutely flattered by the warm welcome you gave this story! I was absolutely flooded with affection, thank you so much! I hope you enjoy the second chapter half so much ;)
> 
> And a great big thank you to Jules_Ink, this lovely lady gave me feedback on the characters and listens to me babble about my Oliver Situation <3
> 
> And Bess made me this BEAUTIFUL banner for my story, oh my gosh look at it it's lovely.
> 
> http://i59.tinypic.com/s65gjr.jpg

Oliver knew that the sound of the door opening behind him was a little  _too_  well timed to be anything good. He kept his pace steady, though, hoping that his armful of groceries and expression of  _I've had a long day and it's only one in the afternoon leave me alone_ would miraculously allow him to slip into his apartment before he was roped into a conversation.

"Oh, Oliver, I did not see you!"

He closed his eyes at the sound of the light Japanese accent and dragged in a breath. When he turned around to face Mrs. Hanagawa, he was wearing a look of pleasant surprise.

"Mrs. Hanagawa, how are you?"

"Oh, good, good, thank you for asking. Your day is good, yes?"

"It's going well, thank you." Oliver gave a suitably pleasant smile. He edged a little closer to his door, but Mrs. Hanagawa refused to acknowledge the hint.

"It is my daughter's birthday next week."

"That's good. Are you doing anything for her?"

"It is funny that you mention," she said. Oliver felt himself quietly screaming in his head. "But I wanted her to have a very good birthday. Maybe you could be at her party?"

"I'm not certain I would fit in at your daughter's birthday party. I haven't even met her."

"No, no, that is fine! You can meet before party, everything will be good. You entertain, yes? She will like you, very much. And all her friends!"

Oliver held in a beleaguered sigh. Here he was, trying to get his groceries inside his apartment, and this little old Japanese woman was mistaking him for a stripper and trying to coerce him into entertaining her daughter's birthday guests.  _How_  this old woman even knew he was an escort Oliver had no idea, other than she was nosy and buttered everyone up with weird Japanese snacks before they knew what had happened (half of the floor was completely addicted to seaweed rice crackers and lychee flavored Calpico, he was certain). He looked down at her, wondering if the excuse of melting frozen vegetables was viable enough to get him out of the conversation.

"Mrs. Hanagawa…that's not what I do," he said carefully.

She huffed and said in rapid fire Japanese, " _Ehhh? What's the difference, you still take your clothes off for money."_

Mrs. Hanagawa, despite her sneaky information gathering ways, had yet to learn that Oliver was fluent in Japanese.

Instead of allowing himself to acknowledge what she had said, Oliver stared at her blankly. His stomach clenched at her blunt summation of his job, but not even the barest hint reached his face. He had become very, very good at this.

"Only this once! It would mean very much to her," she protested, reverting back to the wheedling pity card, now that she thought Oliver could understand her. Oliver felt his smile harden just a touch, but he wasn't snarling so that was good.

"I'm sorry, but I don't do groups and I don't dance," he said, firmly placing his key in the lock. "Have a nice day," he called, and closed the door.

Oliver clenched his teeth and scowled at the door for a moment. Was  _that_ what he was to his neighbors? The slut that would do anything for a buck?

Felicity's folder poked him in the side in response.

Oliver huffed and emptied his arms on the counter. He started grabbing up groceries, putting them away and trying not to think why his stomach was churning with something that made him want to spit. He worked his jaw, knowing that he needed to calm down. It was stupid, just a stupid misunderstanding…

Oliver ran his tongue over his teeth, like that could push the foul taste from his mouth.

_You still take your clothes off for money._

He wasn't doing that. He wasn't  _doing_  that. It was different.

He grit his teeth as he recalled the way Felicity had looked at him earlier that day. Clearly she had thought the same thing, even if she hadn't been so rude about it. She had chosen words like ' _no gross stuff'_  and cut herself off at the casual insinuation that he wasn't comfortable with anything more personal than sex. But he still knew  _exactly_ what she was thinking.

Oliver braced his hands on the edge of the counter. He dragged in a steady breath, gaining control of himself.

He hadn't ever  _intended_  for sex to enter the situation when he first started as an escort. He had just been tired of the cumbersome, poorly paid jobs he had been stuck with, like working in fish markets or as a mechanic or a thousand other menial things. Being an escort had seemed  _so_  much more desirable when he thought about coming home smelling like a woman's perfume and not a school of tuna. Smiling, paying attention to whatever his employer said, making her look good, that was everything his mother had taught him to do since he could walk. Though admittedly Moira had intended it to be coupled with a few doses of political intrigue and his own improved position, not middle grade wine and meaningless lipstick stains on his collar.

If only his mother could see him now. Rented out like a cheap suit, able to afford only a studio apartment, hiding from the glory that was the Queen family name. She would be so disappointed.

And relieved, because that meant she would have actually _seen_  her son.

Oliver slowly straightened and pulled out the postcard he had bought at the store. The words  _City of the Heavens_ was superimposed over a swatch of Starling's crisp skyline. Oliver had been back in the city for almost a month, and he still hadn't sent a card to his mother. Then again, it hadn't  _really_  been forgetfulness that kept him from mailing it. The sooner Moira knew he was back in Starling, the sooner she would look for him. She would send letters, try calling, have people combing the streets to see if they could lay eyes on her son. Oliver didn't want to be some cheap… _whatever_ he was, but he also didn't want to be the prodigal son _._

 _You're being selfish,_  he told himself, and picked up a pen.

_Hey, Mom, back in town. Knew Tucson was too dry for me, but felt like trying. Tell Raisa hi. Don't kill yourself over the holidays._

He put his post office box address on one side and the the Queen mansion's on the other, then and set it back down. He'd mail it tomorrow.

Oliver looked over the post card again, and felt a squirm of guilt. It had been quite the surprise when he cleaned out his Starling PO Box to find that Moira had sent letters and care packages every week, until he had let her know he had moved to San Francisco.

Moira had trailed affection after him everywhere he went, or at least, as much as he would allow. Without fail, he had received letters and pictures and quiet, quiet pleas to  _just come home_ from Starling, to New York, to Houston, to Miami, all the way up to Montreal.

And in return, she had received a post card for every city that he lived in.

The post cards had been born out of a self-righteous wriggle of spite, back when he was still angry and reeling and trying to figure just what the hell he was doing. They had parted on…uneasy terms, and while he hadn't wanted to lose contact with her altogether, he also hadn't wanted to actually  _interact_  with her. And then, as the months passed and he started to cool off…it had been easier to stick to what he had been doing. Oliver knew how to keep himself safe with the emotional distance of a post card, because his mother, despite all of the love in the world she had for her children, knew how to take people's feelings and twist them until they suited her needs.

It had been a little easier to stay in contact with Thea. Shortly after his first post card, he had received a long, angry letter demanding  _how could you leave_  and  _you can't leave me here alone!_  and  _Ollie,_ _I miss you._  He couldn't go home, but he could at least write her a proper letter back. Thea had been a traumatized fourteen year old, not a self-righteous billionaire that demanded things he wasn't sure he could ever give, like Moira.

What would the two of them be doing? Not much, from the sound of it. Moira would probably be squeezing in a few more international phone meetings, while Thea…well, he just hoped that she would make good choices over the long weekend. But Tommy was sure to go visit them, and Laurel might even be roped into going along, so it wouldn't be just two people in the mansion. Tommy had started dating Laurel about a year before, after repeatedly receiving Oliver's blessing. If he had to say, Oliver thought the quadruple checking was more over Tommy's worry that Laurel might reject him than worry Oliver was possessive of his ex-girlfriend.

Oliver rested his elbows on the counter and propped his head in his hands.

He missed them, very, very much.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Oliver pulled it out and glanced over the new message. It was from Diggle.

_Carly invited us over for thnxgiving. Lyla agreed._

_Help._

Oliver snorted and tapped in a reply.

_can't, sorry_

John Diggle had a very unique relationship history. He had been in love with his brother's wife, moved on to his commanding officer, married said commanding officer, divorced, attempted dating his dead brother's wife after a few years after his passing, called it quits, and was now in some sort of on again, off again relationship with his ex-wife. Even to Oliver, the ruling monarch of Difficult Relationships, that was complicated. But all of them had the great good luck of being able to discuss their problems before they became nightmares. That was probably why Diggle's ex/sister-in-law was comfortable asking him and his ex-wife/girlfriend over for Thanksgiving, while Oliver couldn't look his ex-anythings in the eye.

 _What happened to having my back,_ Diggle texted, making Oliver roll his eyes.

_ive got to work_

_You'd rather work than have dinner with us?_

_yes_

_Ok leave me to die_

_say hi to carly & aj for me_

_Yah yah. Still time to save me if the job doesn't work out._

Oliver looked at Diggle's text for a long moment but didn't respond. He appreciated the casual offer of spending the holidays with Diggle's family, how there were no strings or expectations attached. The thought of eating turkey and sweet potatoes and Lyla's unearthly rolls while watching the Turkey Bowl and entertaining Diggle's nephew, AJ, made his chest tighten from longing. But…he had a job on Thanksgiving Day. Christmas, though, would definitely be saved for them.

Oliver finished putting away his groceries, then eyed the folder Felicity had given him. He hadn't opened it since he had left the café that morning, and wasn't sure he wanted to delve into his next job just yet, not with Mrs. Hanagawa's accusation still ringing in his ears and a few dozen gnarled thoughts tumbling around his head about… _everything._ Then again, he had less than a week until Thanksgiving, and this wasn't the type of job that he could swing through with the right clothes and a complimentary smile.

Oliver shoved his bitterness away, prioritizing his job over his sulk. He heaved a sigh, picked up the folder, and then flopped onto his futon. He skimmed the notes Felicity had prepared for him. They were neat, bulleted things, with the occasional handwritten comment on the side.

Usually Oliver wasn't one to pick the play-pretend roles. Most often women wanted a hot date to show off for this affair or that event (or, if they were desperate, they wanted to have a nice evening with the promise of hot counter sex after, but without the awkwardness of a one night stand. Those were definitely his least favorite.). As soon as he had to remember specific facts to put on a shiny veneer, things were far more likely to go wrong.

He had accepted Felicity's proposal, though, because it was clean cut. She laid out exactly what she expected, gave him all the details needed to play the part, and didn't seem the type to imagine him naked every five seconds. He was curious about the extended family that necessitated the creation of an imaginary boyfriend, and about the girl who had meticulously crafted him.

And…Oliver liked the idea of not spending another Thanksgiving alone.

He skimmed the brief section on Felicity's mother, reviewing their meeting in the café. She had been so nervous, and yet there had been no doubt about what she wanted. When they had gotten down to the exact details of their arrangement, Felicity had finally seemed to settle in. Her babble had gone from anxiety-induced to habitual, her 'unadulterated Felicity headspace waves' coming in full force as she detailed their fake relationship.

Then again, he didn't feel he had much room to mock. Oliver  _had_  inadvertently responded by calling cuddling 'clinging'. But that was completely and entirely Tommy's fault. It had been over five years since Oliver had seen his best friend, and yet that  _stupid_  term from their idiotic youth had remained. The next time Oliver saw him, he was going to kick Tommy's ass.

Oliver skimmed the next page of the folder, then sighed and let it fall flat on his chest. The more he read about Felicity's life the bigger that niggling doubt at the back of his mind became. He had accepted Felicity's plan because it had been straightforward and clean cut, yes, but he hadn't considered all of the things he would have to hide. She may have been comfortable presenting a neat little folder on her life, but Oliver's history was infinitely more complex. Be himself, but as her boyfriend? Felicity didn't want that. ' _Himself'_ had proved to be a rather ambiguous term these days. Oliver Queen was an asshole, and Oliver Dearden…well, he was anything people needed him to be.

He chewed on his cheek. He had accepted the job because he had known he could do this, he just hadn't realized how hard it might be. After all, Oliver had spent the last few years consistently pretending not to be a heaving wreck with an estranged family sewn together by the media and the obligation of a few billion dollars. He could do this. And besides, it was just for the day and then he would be gone. Nothing to worry about.

Oliver groaned and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to warn you now - Oliver Queen is my sun, moon, and stars and pretty much any discussion on his sense of identity is what I live for, so expect a lot of that, okay?


	3. face the long road together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the farther into this chapter I went, the mORE ROM-COM-Y IT FELT AND I HAVE NEGATIVE REGRETS. ALSO FELICITY WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE WHY HAVE I NOT USED YOU AS A NARRATOR FOR EVERYTHING EVER.
> 
> also pssst this chapter is twice as long as the other two YOU'RE WELCOME.

"I mean, he seems nice enough. Certainly not the kind of creepy mouth breather you had me thinking he was," Felicity said, pausing at the stop light. She heard Caitlin heave a sigh over the speaker phone.

"You had, what,  _one_  meeting with him, and that lasted  _maybe_ twenty minutes?  _Obviously_ that's proper basis for establishing his character."

Felicity took the liberty of rolling her eyes as she continued driving down the road.

"Well, I don't know," Barry's voice cut in, a little hesitant but still trundling on. "I mean, that's kind of how you meet anyone. Just because he happens to be an escort—"

"Which I think is still totally awesome. You  _hired_ someone to be your boyfriend," Cisco piped up. "But also totally questionable and definitely not something anyone should do in real life, ever," he tacked on, probably because of a lethal glare from Caitlin.

"Guys,  _I know._  You actually told me all of this  _before_ I even contacted him. Many times."

"Yes, but…now you're committing to driving alone with this guy in the middle of nowhere for multiple hours. You know  _nothing_  about him, no proper references, no nothing."

"Untrue," Felicity said, taking a left hand turn. "We'll be driving through Starling suburbs, not the middle of the desert, and  _maybe_  it will take two hours, there and back. Also, I do have a refer—"

"You do have a reference from that one girl that you happened to live with once over a year ago," Caitlin sniffed. "You knew her for  _three months._ And I'm not one to judge people for their life choices—" stifled snorts from both Barry and Cisco "—but I think it's a little dubious to just  _pass_  an escort on to your friend."

"Okay, those three months I knew Sara were  _awesome_  months, in which I had my eyes opened to many, many things. Practical, real world things. Just because you're still grumpy from that time you were too chicken to go bar hopping with us—"

"It's called  _engaged._ "

"It's called  _designated driver._ "

"Guys," Barry said, stifling his laughter, " _guys,_  focus. This is about your not-boyfriend. What's his name?"

"Oliver."

"Right. So…he's going to be your boyfriend for the night. Are you nervous?"

" _Incredibly,"_ Felicity admitted, and just like that her veneer of doubtless confidence was gone. "I mean, what if this goes wrong? Terribly, horribly,  _hilariously_  wrong, full on rom-com style. My family finds out, I lose all credibility, I lose my job, the house catches fire, my cousin Aaron can't go to college _,_ someone probably  _dies_ —"

" _Felicity,_ Felicity, hold on," Barry interrupted her. She dragged in a breath and released the death grip on the steering wheel. Yep, she was completely terrified about what she was doing. She was just impressed she had managed to lie to herself about it for so long. "Just how exactly will you faking a boyfriend make someone  _die?_ "

"Crazy rom-com logic!"

"True," Cisco added, sounding very thoughtful. Caitlin gave an indignant huff and probably elbowed him in the ribs, judging by his squeak of pain. "But, again, totally questionable and not real life stuff."

"When do you meet him?" Barry asked, ever the voice of reason among his polar co-workers.

"We're supposed to drive to my aunt's house in fifteen minutes. I may or may not be very, very early," Felicity said, pulling into a parking space. The sigh that came from the other end of the phone was from all three of her friends. "I'm nervous! I took some buffer time for you guys to help me calm down!"

"Because  _that's_  working," Cisco muttered.

" _Guys!_ I need help here!"

"Alright," Caitlin said, sounding very resigned. Felicity could practically see her straighten in front of the phone, putting aside her own thoughts on the matter for the greater good of Felicity's stability. "Look, Felicity, since you're set on doing this…don't think of it being what it is."

"How do I do  _that?_ "

"No, no, she has a point," Barry said. "Don't think of it as taking out an escort, but just…a sort of blind date. Your friend, Sara, she set you two up, and you happen to be visiting your family right away."

"Because  _that_  makes  _soooooo_  much more sense. You've  _met_  my family, right?"

"I met your mom," Barry said distantly. Clearly, he was recalling what an exciting adventure  _that_  had been.

"Yeah! I'd be worried enough if it was  _just_  my mom meeting Oliver, but then I've got my aunts and uncles and their kids and that's just a lot of people that I don't want examining  _me_  that closely, much less my fake super attractive escort boyfriend!"

"Felicity, don't have a panic attack in the car."

She moaned, and braced her forehead against the steering wheel. She had been doing fine with her whole denial thing until that morning, when she had laid in bed and thought about having to get ready and then called her family to say that, yeah, she and her boyfriend would be there around one, like she was really, really excited for all of this. That had started a hideous downward spiral that resulted in her friends trying to talk her down from hyperventilating in the car over the phone.

"Felicity…?"

"I'm here," she told the pedals. "I just…let's talk about something else for the moment. What's—what's the rest of your guys' Thanksgiving looking like?"

"Well, we just started the party a little while ago," Barry said. The Wests had decided to throw a big get together, once they had heard that Caitlin's boyfriend had to be out of town for a family emergency, and Cisco wanted to limit as much exposure to his 'super fantastic obnoxious pretentious asshole brother' as he could. "Iris should be coming home with Eddie soon, so…things should pick up."

"We wish you could be here," Cisco piped up, which made Felicity smile. She missed her friends in Central City. She and Barry had been part of the same internship program in Central, and he had then introduced her to Cisco and Caitlin. They had been more hands on chemicals, robotics, and biology science-y types whereas she preferred the IT side of things, but Felicity had enjoyed their passion and easy conversation. Things had been simple while she lived in Central City.

Things had  _also_  been simple in Starling, before she had shot her mouth off to her grandmother about having a boyfriend.

"I wish I could be there, too. Tell Joe hi for me," she told Barry. "And ask everyone to pray for me, because  _ooooooooooh_  my gosh I am going to need it. This could very well be a futzing nightmare."

"But it could  _also_  turn out  _awesomely,_ " Cisco added. "Be sure to check in with us. Pictures are optional, but encouraged."

"Don't be insensitive," Caitlin chided, but the affect was a little defeated by her following up with, "But yes, do tell us what happens. I want to know how this all turns out."

"Hopefully not with the house catching fire, your cousin not getting into college, and someone dying," Barry teased, which, alright, did make Felicity smile a little bit. Maybe her anxiety had mixed rom-com logic with horrendous-tear-jerker-why-am-I-even-watching-this logic.

"Hopefully. I do need to go though, so just…wish me luck, okay?"

"Okay!" they all promised, and Felicity hung up. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, then got out of her car. She fed the machine a few minutes' worth of coins and went to stand outside of the café she had met Oliver in the week before. It was raining steadily, so she took cover under the awning.

Felicity scanned the people passing by, trying to pick Oliver out of the crowd. She was still very,  _very_  nervous, and her palms were sweating and she couldn't stand still and her breath would hitch at odd and terrifying moments, but she could do this, she  _would_  do this. She had gotten out of bed that morning, promised her family that yes, yes, she was coming, and was now standing at the place where she would meet Oliver. Now was the time for her to suck it up and make this strange contrived date  _awesome._

…or at least not end in a horrendously shameful or lethal fashion.

She let out a slow breath through her nose and kept people watching. Felicity had managed to more or less calm herself down by the time she saw Oliver walking toward the café. Her stomach flipped, both out of nerves and relief. At least he was there, one less thing to worry about.

Oliver was wearing a different coat today, this one a dark blue double breasted number with his collar upturned against the rain. Felicity blinked as she watched him move closer. How on  _earth_ he managed to go from casual hot guy she met in a café to some powerful and sophisticated business man with just the change of a coat, she had no idea. Then again, Felicity was starting to understand at least a little more about why he was an escort. It wasn't so much having sex as fitting in, assuming new looks and roles for each job. Felicity wondered if this was something he had had to learn, or if the ability to appear as someone else had been innate.

She flashed back to what he would look like next to her, then wilted a little. She was wearing a bright orange dress with a full white skirt and accents, and had pretty lady heels and a sleek grey coat. She looked nice. And yet, next to the ridiculously attractive Oliver…well, she wouldn't look like she was wearing a potato sack, but she probably wouldn't look as nice as her mirror had told her that morning, either.

Felicity suppressed a grimace at the sudden thought of what her mother would say when she saw him. Probably something about how Felicity should be ashamed for neglecting to bring home such a 'choice piece of man meat'.

Maybe they  _didn't_  need to go to her aunt's house, maybe she and Oliver could pass the afternoon in a quiet restaurant around the corner where she wasn't at risk of being mortified by her family's lack of social graces.

Oh, this was so not a great idea.

"Felicity," Oliver called, and she snapped her gaze back to him. Yep, he still completely dwarfed her.

"Hi," she said, hoping that she managed to balance out her anxiety and pseudo confidence into something resembling normalcy. "Uhm, how're—how're you?"

"I'm fine," he smiled. "How about you?"

"Oh, I'm…I'm good," she said. He raised an eyebrow but didn't push further. She bit the inside of her cheek. She  _needed_  to have faith in this, right now. She was done scrambling for a solution to her problem, now was the time to enact her plan with flawless confidence, even if she did not feel it.

At the very least, he could flash her family one of those complimentary, heart stuttering looks and make everyone forget what they were thinking for the last five minutes. Actually, that might just be her new game plan; dazzle everyone with how pretty her boyfriend was until they had to leave.

"Are you ready?" he asked, interrupting visions of her aunts and uncles going slack jawed at Oliver's doubtlessly wonderful laugh.

"Hm? Oh, yeah! Uhm, Mini," she blurted, waving at her car. "It's, uh, right here."

"Small enough to fit in your pocket," he remarked. She shot him a look, but she couldn't quite detect sarcasm, and his expression didn't give anything away, so she just led him to the car.

"You should have enough leg room," she said, unlocking the car. "At least, I've never had complaints about it before."

Oliver nodded absently, and climbed in.

"You said your aunt lived about an hour away?"

"Yes, if I don't speed. I wasn't sure if it was going to be icy, so I ball parked it, but…" She trailed off, staring out at the rain-smeared windshield.

They were quiet for a few moments, in which Felicity found herself humming along to the radio, because she had to do something and humming wasn't verbally vomiting all over her hired date's lap. After a few minutes of therapeutic pop, though, she felt calm enough for more data-gathering small talk.

"Have you lived in Starling long?" she asked, glancing at him as she spoke. Oliver looked at her, then shrugged as he thought about an answer.

"I grew up here, but I just moved back a while ago."

"Mm. I've been here about a year, and before that, mostly the East Coast for college. But I was born and raised in Vegas," she said.

Felicity paused. He knew that. That was all in the folder she had given him, Oliver knew that. Unless he had neglected such basic information as where she was from, which she highly doubted. But he had nodded along, listening with a quiet, attentive sort of look, like this was all fascinating information about her.

Okay, so another reason why he was good at this escort thing. He could fake it like nobody's business.

"I like the rain, though," she continued, gesturing at the windshield. "The less snow, the better. But it's also not blah California weather. There's some variety."

"Like dumping or drizzling," Oliver chuckled. He said it with an affectionate eye roll at Starling's classic Pacific Northwest weather, but Felicity's smile was genuine. She liked seeing him joke.

The idle conversation lasted them until they left the city, flying their way down to Felicity's aunt's house. She thought about bringing up the job, about testing his knowledge or maybe just reassuring him (who was she kidding, the reassurance was still very much for herself), but the small amounts of tact she had been graced with said  _keep your mouth shut._

Felicity let out a breath, wondering yet again what this would be like. She had  _hired a boyfriend._  She had no idea what Oliver was like, other than private and exceptionally complimentary when he wanted to be. Otherwise, she knew nothing. He was a handsome cutout sitting in the passenger seat of her car, politely listening to her talk and offering an artificial comment here or there.

How was she supposed to fake affection for a stranger? She could pretend for a couple of seconds, if she needed to shake a creep off at a bar or something, but not for a whole afternoon and  _especially_ not with her family constantly examining her.

The annoying thing was that Felicity  _wanted_  to like Oliver. She wanted to like him as a person because she wanted to like  _everyone_  until proven otherwise. But he was firmly drawing the curtains over his windows and soundproofing his doors, so as to not let a single detail get out.

"Okay," she said suddenly, cutting through the soothing sound of the rain on the car, "okay, you've gotta give me something more."

"Hm?" Oliver looked at her like he hadn't caught what she had said, but Felicity had the very strong sense he knew  _exactly_  what she was pushing toward, he was just stalling. Or maybe giving her a chance to back out.

"You've gotta help me here," she said, glancing over at him. "I mean, gosh, I'm really grateful you're doing this, no doubt about that, but…Oliver, I don't  _know_  you."

"Okay…?"

"You have to tell me something more about yourself. I can't walk into Thanksgiving dinner only knowing my boyfriend's birthday and that he grew up in Starling."

"What do you want to know?" he asked, and his voice had a quieter edge to it. Not softer, but quiet, waiting, watching, deciding what he wanted to give.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Tell me anything. Anything you've got to give. It's this or we play an endless round of Twenty Questions until we get there."

"That's very vague," he said, running a hand over his mouth.

Felicity gave a slight smile as if to say ' _yes, it is',_ and not ' _that's because you've literally given me nothing else oh my gosh._ '

"I'm…not sure what you need."

" _Anything,"_  she said, trying not to sound desperate. "Movies, food, places, philosophical thoughts on the human condition, your choice."

"Okay," he laughed, then was quiet for a moment. Felicity glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, tempted to make some snippy comment about how he was _not_  allowed to not give anything. Then Oliver sighed, and told the windshield, "I'm not big into sports."

"What?" Felicity had to check herself from turning to completely face him and incidentally jerking the car off the road. "Sports? You don't like sports?"

Somehow, Felicity found that rather difficult to believe of such a physical specimen.

"I don't  _dislike_  sports," Oliver clarified, still looking through the windshield. "They're fun to play, but going to a restaurant for their coverage of the big football game is…not appealing."

"Yeah, well, most places like that are kinda tacky," Felicity admitted. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Buffalo Wild Wings, but…there is a certain vibe."

"Yes," he chuckled, then tilted his head as he continued considering the highway outside. He ran his hand over his mouth again, like he was weighing what he wanted to say to her, sifting out the simple truths he felt comfortable to give. "More than that, though, I…watching the game is something I do mostly for other people."

"For appearances, or…?"

"No, more for the company," Oliver said, looking at her for the first time since he had brought up the subject. He had an easier version of his smile on, brought about by good memories. "Back in high school, I would go over to my friend's place and we'd watch whatever game was on. He had favorites for every sport and got  _so_  passionate. But even now…I dunno, nothing on tv really seems interesting."

"So that's watching sports, what about playing them?"

"I'll play in the local Turkey Bowl, I guess," he said, but his tone made Felicity certain that this was more of a theoretical situation, than a practical one. "I'm more into…single player sports."

"Like golf?"

"Like parkour," Oliver said absently. "Or archery."

Felicity spent a few moments staring at the highway, trying not to deluge Oliver with questions. Her limited knowledge of parkour began and ended with 'people run around and jump on things', and archery…well frankly, Oliver just didn't seem the archery type. She snuck a glance at him, trying to impose a bow and arrow into his hands, but failed. It just seemed like such a… _medieval fantasy_  thing to do.

The rain began to ease into a mild drizzle, making Felicity adjust the setting on her windshield wipers. She had the intense feeling that peppering him with further questions would result in him shutting down completely, which was the actual last thing she needed. She forced herself to be quiet for a little longer, mulling over what Oliver said.

Added to the sparse list of his birthday and being a Starling native (and having a sister, no father, and no car) was his casual dislike for watching sports. He did it for the opportunity of spending time with people he liked, rather than an avid interest in what the Seahawks were doing, which hinted at something much sweeter than she would have expected. It was unexpectedly self-sacrificing, trading his own personal interests for extra time with people he cared about. Then there was his taste for weird alternative sports, though Felicity's interest didn't go any deeper than her really, really wanting to ask him about them (namely along the lines of  _'can you do a backflip and can I see?'_ ), but she was using her tact and not pushing the subject.

After Felicity had fully reviewed what she knew about Oliver, she realized that she had no idea what to do next. Was she supposed to keep prompting him to tell her things? But wasn't that just as pushy as demanding to know about his sports life? Was it her turn to give tidbits about herself? He had an entire folder on her, though, it wasn't like he was exactly starved for information. But now that she thought about it, the folder was exceptionally clinical. She hadn't really mentioned anything about her own likes or dislikes, so was this now a give and take sort of deal? That could probably work, that way it wasn't all on him, but what was she supposed to start with? Felicity suddenly understood some of Oliver's reluctance to detail himself to her. Thinking of all of the little facets to her own personality was  _hard._ Should she bust in with ' _I have very strong and controversial opinions on Steven Moffat do you want to hear?',_ or should she start out with something a little less intense, like how she had an embarrassing love of northwest hip hop?

Oliver spared her the decision by giving a quiet sigh in way of introduction to the next thing he wanted to say. Felicity glanced at him, biting down on her tongue to keep quiet.

"Aside from English…I know four languages."

" _Four?"_  Felicity gasped, yet again resisting the urge to face Oliver completely.  _Four_ languages, aside from English. That was…that was amazing. She supposed they were all clustered around the same root language. After her uncle Wyatt had learned Spanish, he swore Italian, Portuguese, and French had all dominoed after. But still,  _four languages._  Five, including English.

"Yes," he said, a quiet laugh in his voice. He hesitated, then said, "I know Mandarin, Cantonese, Japanese, and Russian."

So they totally weren't connected like the Romance languages.

"Did you, I dunno, do the world's most intense study abroad ever in college?"

" _No,_ " he laughed. "I…lived all over for a while. Rent happened to be cheapest in Chinatown, and then after that…I branched out."

"You just happened to pick up  _Mandarin_  because you were living in Chinatown? I lived in Vegas and I barely learned basic Spanish in high school. Seriously, you realize that all but one of those is a category five language?!"

Oliver shrugged like it was no big deal, but she caught the tiny smile on the corner of his mouth.

"It was either learn or let everyone short the stupid American," he pointed out. Felicity nodded to show that she understood  _why_  he had learned all of those languages, she was just having issues with  _learning_  all of those languages.

"Five languages, though," she murmured, then sighed. "I suddenly feel kind of dumb."

Oliver full on snorted and gave her a look.

"What?"

"You graduated MIT at  _nineteen."_

 _"Yeah,_ " she said, shifting slightly in her chair. "I'm not saying I  _am_  dumb, just…wow."

Oliver chuckled to himself as Felicity continued attempting to reconcile herself with the fact, and then they fell back into silence. It was more comfortable than before, though, now that they had a better idea of who the other person was.

Most of Felicity's anxiety had abated, thank goodness. She knew a little bit more about Oliver, both in what he had told her and what she had seen in their conversation. He was private but had an amiable side, if not flat out charismatic. And he was surprisingly humble. He was proud of what he could do, but he never put a point on it. It made Felicity wonder what he was hiding in that head of his.

They talked on and off for most of the ride, stumbling in and out of chitchat and real conversation. Felicity added a few more details to her Oliver info bank (he liked feel good movies and actions flicks, and winter was his favorite season), pulling together a very, very loose sketch of his character. The latest period of silence had led them off of the highway and into the town her aunt lived in, filled with cute little houses and lots of tall, leafless trees lining the streets. Just as Felicity's stomach jitters were multiplying with astonishing speed, Oliver asked her a question.

"Why…why are you so anxious over your family?"

"Hm?"

"What is it about your family that has you so tense?" Oliver asked, voice quiet. She looked at him for a long moment, at first wondering how he had guessed she was nervous, then recalling, oh yes, she had only had a mini panic attack less than an hour before. It probably wasn't  _that_  hard to figure out she was not psyched for this.

"I…I don't know," she hedged, trying to figure out what to say. "I just…they're my family, you know? I love them, but  _oh my gosh,_  they sometimes drive me up a wall."

"Yes, but…?"

" _But,_ " she sighed, "I dunno, they just…they're really in your face? It's an honest sort of love, but it's kind of an invasive sort of love. They're so invested in my well-being and fulfilling the cookie cutter form of happiness that they pushed me to make up a boyfriend, you know?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, but Felicity had the distinct impression that he did not. He was laughing because he understood what she had been pushed to, not because he had ever experienced that sort of obnoxious, well-intended sort of love.

"It's really just my mom's side of the family, 'cause, you know, Dad's not around, and I guess the Lowe gene is being really in your face. And I don't really fit the mold, moving out to 'hippie country', going into computers instead of some simple, small town job, and…I know they're proud of me, I really do, and that's why they've always got their eyes on me, but it's just…I don't want to be perfect all the time, you know?" she asked, turning to look at Oliver again.

His gaze was shockingly sincere, far more candid than it had been earlier. Felicity knew that this was Oliver truly invested in what she was saying, absorbing the words and finding meaning in them, not just faking interest for whoever had hired him for the day.

"I don't want to have to check all of the boxes on 'a happy life' if that's not what I'm interested in," Felicity continued, turning onto a new street that led to the outskirts of town. "I want to do what I want, and that just happens to not include everything they want for me. And it's kind of difficult going home and having them push that onto me."

"I understand," Oliver told her, and finally, finally, after almost forty-five minutes of driving together, she heard his voice turn soft. Felicity looked at him, trying to understand what she had said to cause the change, but this time when something inside her said to keep quiet, she had no troubles listening. This was not something she wanted to root around in if she was only going to know him for one afternoon.

"So…yeah," she said lamely, knowing that she was kind of trampling over whatever that moment was, but also knowing that was probably the wisest course of action. "I love my family, I just…sometimes it's easier to play along and spin the situation to your own advantage."

"Are you scared about them finding out?" he asked her. "Like you said in the café, it's going to be you dealing with the fall out, if there is any."

"Uhm…" Felicity began, wondering how she was supposed to verbalize the hysteric laughter that started up in her head, because he had just effectively reminded her that  _this was insane._ "On a scale of one to ten, I'm probably at 'peeing myself'."

Oliver snorted again and glanced out the window, but when he looked back at her he was wearing a comforting smile.

"It's okay, Felicity. I'm here to help you," he told her, reaching out to touch her arm. She glanced at him and nodded.

"That's…that's a really good thing," she sighed. "Because we're almost there."

"How much is 'almost'?"

"Like, it's the house at the end of the drive here," she said, nodding down the small road they had just turned on. Oliver raised his eyebrows and glanced to where she indicated, then nodded. His smile was a little more artificial than she would have normally liked, but it still gave her a strong sense of comfort.

"Just an afternoon, like any other," he told her. And even though Felicity nodded, sucked in a breath, and repeated it to herself, she really,  _really_  doubted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I love about this story is its infinite potential. I'm able to write light moments and serious moments and inbetween moments and it's really a delight. I can reveal characters slowly and carefully without compromising anything at all and I love it.


	4. sailing through different waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing love about Oliver's POV is that sometimes he's a total robot, and then other times he's a great big squishy cuddle monster that's hiding beneath his hard-as-nails persona and it just makes me giggle. I love writing cutie patootie things from his POV because they're not cute, they're totally not, they're 'utilitarian' and 'practical' ;)
> 
> Thank you again for the lovely, lovely feedback and support! And to my darling betas for helping sort out the dumb mistakes that littered this chapter.

Felicity parked on a small gravel pull out next to a few other cars. Oliver noticed the small breath she sucked in between turning off the car and unbuckling, like she was pulling herself together before climbing out. They trekked across the muddy yard, Felicity sticking to the slightly less precarious gravel due to her heels until they reached the drive way.

"Okay, uhm, well…brace yourself," she told Oliver, then knocked on the door. Moments later, people could be heard moving to answer, and if the babble of voices was any indicator, there were a lot of them.

The door opened and then they were showered with greetings. Or rather, Felicity was greeted and Oliver received looks.

"Fizzy, oh, it's so good to see you!" a woman cheered, flinging her arms around Felicity's neck and pulling her into the house. Oliver blinked at the place where Felicity had just been, trying to process the onslaught of voices and people. Some shrilled out greetings, while others simply smiled and waited their turn for a more personalized hello. People were talking and laughing and hugging and were so  _happy_  to see Felicity.

So that was what coming home felt like.

Oliver forcibly smothered that thought, instead focusing on the matter at hand. A quick glance at the people around him showed a few pleasant smiles, but mostly people were staring him down to make split second decisions about his character. It had been a  _long_  time since he had felt such an intense level of scrutiny. But then his training kicked in and Oliver smiled, let out a casual breath, and reached out a hand to the nearest person staring at him.

"Hi," he said, and then it was nothing but the classic Queen charm falling from his lips. "I'm Oliver."

"Oliver," the man before him said, testing the name on his tongue. "Do you have a last name, too?"

"Dearden."

"Alright, then, good to meet you. I'm Felicity's uncle, Wyatt Lowe."

They had just finished shaking hands when someone to the right called, " _Oliver?"_

He turned, heart freezing in his chest. Had someone recognized him? Somehow, impossibly, had someone—

"So  _this_  is the boy we've all been waiting to meet!" It was the woman that had flung her arms around Felicity when the door first opened. She was short, but compensated with bright purple heels. Her hair was bottle blonde and her white and blue dress was an…interestingly low cut choice for a private family reunion. She had a teasing smile on her face, but Oliver knew she was analyzing him with more care than the rest.

"Oh, yes, this is Oliver!" Felicity said, turning to introduce him. "And, Oliver, this is my mother, Donna. And everybody else…you can introduce yourselves on your own time, 'cause there's a lot."

"Pleasure to meet you," he told Donna, giving her hand a shake.

"Oliver…lovely to meet you. We've heard plenty."

"All good, I hope," he said, glancing at Felicity.

"Of course! Only good stuff, much, much good."

He smiled and put a hand on Felicity's back as she flushed. A few people chuckled at her nervous punch of words, but they accepted Oliver as her boyfriend. One hurdle down.

A few people introduced themselves, another uncle, two aunts, the infamous Grandma Jodie, and a few cousins. He felt Felicity let out a slow sigh under his hand as people began to disperse, carrying the conversation with them into another room. He smiled as they followed into the living room, thinking that, yes, Felicity's family was a little much to take all at once, but they were nice.

By the time they were all seated in the living room, any residual doubt or concern Oliver had was gone. Even with the entire room eyeing him, he settled into work mode and polished his good boyfriend persona to a shine. He balanced the three conversations bouncing around the room, sliding from one topic to another as people shot questions and observations at him. Felicity seemed to be having a more difficult time adjusting. She was perched next to Oliver on the couch, but she had refused to relax. She sat stiff, shoulders barely allowed to brush touch his arm from where it was draped across the back of the couch, her hands planted in fists on her knees.

"Fizzy, how was the drive here?" an elderly woman seated in the armchair next to Oliver asked. She had given a quick introduction, which had consisted of a warm handshake and " _I'm Annie"_ , but nothing more. "Did you two have any problems with the rain?"

"No, we were fine," Felicity said, smoothly yanking herself out of a conversation about the benefits of acupuncture.

"As long as they got here safe and didn't have too much fun together, I'm happy," Jodie cut in, voice carrying across the room.

" _No,_  no, we got here alright," Felicity said though a plastered-on smile.

"Notice how she didn't comment on having too much fun," one of her uncles, Gary, said, but it was with a kinder edge than Jodie. This, of course, launched a new stream of Felicity-centered conversation, with people both poking fun and defending Oliver and Felicity from the others.

Maybe it was a good thing Felicity hadn't let her guard down.

" _So,_  Oliver," Wyatt asked once the debate died away, "what is it you do for a living?"

Felicity tensed next to him, but Oliver kept his smile easy.

"It's really not much. I'm a temp worker."

"Big pause there," remarked Jodie. Oliver was starting to understand why Felicity didn't want him to be nice to her.

"It's  _technically_  temp work," he explained. "It's specialized, though, so companies like to give it a fancier name, make me sound a little more important than I am."

"Amen to things that help boost your pay," Siobhan, Wyatt's girlfriend, cheered. "What do you specialize in?"

"Human relations," Oliver told the room, a flawless, Queen patented smile in place. Beside him, Felicity managed to convert a surprised snort into a sort of sneeze. He squeezed her side in sly acknowledgement of her near miss. "She's here for my looks, not my paycheck."

"Not true!" Felicity blurted, straightening. "I mean, I'm not here for just his looks, he has so many more benefits than that! Many, many benefits."

One of Felicity's cousins choked out a laugh, and Felicity registered what she said. Her eyes widened in horror but Oliver just squeezed her again, easily glossing over the stifled chuckles around her.

"You're talking about me like I'm an insurance plan," he told her, using his nonchalance like a shield against the context of sex in everyone's heads.

"As long as you cover the damage I'm doing to myself…" she muttered, finally slumping into his arm. Oliver chuckled and kissed her temple. She didn't respond at first, just stayed very, very still, but after a moment she leaned against his side. After what he supposed was a moment of consideration, she reached over and held his free hand. Felicity covertly glanced up at him, eyes wide like she was checking to see if this was alright. Oliver moved their hands over to her lap as proper encouragement. He wasn't the one that was uncomfortable with excessive touching.

Throughout the conversation, Oliver began to get a read on Felicity's family. Wyatt and Siobhan were probably the most laid back of the group, quick to tease, but also ready to come to someone's defense if things became a little heated. Jodie was the fake grandma that always had something to say (usually with the result of stirring the pot), while Annie was Felicity's real grandmother, and could only be classified as 'a charming kick in the pants'. Gary seemed nice enough, even if he had refused to get Felicity a present for both her graduations, and his children were a little spoiled (then again, Oliver's discipline as a child was sketchy at best, as every stern lecture had been hollowed out by empty threats and any problem he caused being paid to go away), though his wife Melanie was a genuine ray of sunshine, smiling at everyone's stories and knitting something green with too many needles.

People kept appearing and disappearing into the kitchen, depending on what was being made. Felicity explained that each family member was responsible for a specific dish, in an effort to help cut down some of the stress on Gina, the aunt that owned the house. Gina had the oldest children after Felicity, and the experience showed. She directed everything seamlessly, calling out cooking times and checking her opinionated teenagers and casually reminding Jodie that this  _wasn't_  her home, so she wasn't allowed to dictate what everyone else did. She spent most of her time in the kitchen with Donna, and screams of laughter or the clatter of a dropped pan and a hushed curse underscored the living room conversation. It was hectic, people talking over each other and disagreeing and the younger children running through with screams of laughter or crocodile tears trailing after, but it felt  _good._ Oliver's laughter didn't feel forced, and he didn't have to lie to himself to find reasons to remain interested in the conversation.

"Fizzy, honey," Donna called, poking her head into the living room. Felicity straightened at her mother's voice, dragging in a rapid breath as she unstuck her face from Oliver's shoulder.

"Yeah, Mom?"

"Fizz, we're going to start on the apple pie."

"Oh, yeah, I'll be right there!" she said, moving to stand up. She hesitated, then turned back to Oliver. "Do you mind if I go?"

"No, I'll be fine. I've faced worse," he reassured her, then winked. She still seemed hesitant, so Oliver squeezed her hand then guided her up.

"He'll be fine," Annie promised Felicity. "I'll be sure to sock anybody that gets on him," she said, throwing up two wrinkled fists in a show of determination.

"Thanks, Grandma," Felicity laughed, then left Oliver with a touch on the shoulder.

Gina came out a few minutes later, waving off encouragements to sit down with assurances of  _"it's just a breather, I'll be gone in a sec"._  She leaned against the chair next to her oldest son, Aaron, and munched on cheese and crackers as she listened to the conversation.

"Gina, can we go see the pond?" one of the kids asked, tugging on Gina's pant leg.

"I don't know," she began, but Gary jumped in.

"Why not? Oliver's never seen it, and it's a real beautiful bit of land."

"It's been raining all  _day_ ," Gina countered, shaking her head.

"I'm fine, honestly," Oliver said, a subtle creeping sensation going up his back. He turned to Gina with the intention of moving onto another topic, but Gary was insistent.

"Here, look, Oliver, it's great, really. And it wasn't raining earlier."

"Yeah, for maybe two seconds after it stopped  _hailing,_ " Siobhan snorted into her cup. Gary gave her a very annoyed look.

"I wanna go play on the  _swing_ ," the boy whined again, turning an absolutely pathetic look to Gina.

"Or play on the boats!" another chimed in, "I love the boats!"

"The  _boats_?" Gina asked. "No, no, it's  _way_  too cold for that. I'm not dealing with someone falling in and getting pneumonia on Thanksgiving."

"Okay, no boats, but the pond though," Gary tried again, while Annie latched onto the topic of boats (this, Oliver had noticed, was her tactic for distracting people from a fight).

"Boats, as in more than one? You get another, Gina?"

"Oh, yeah, didn't I tell you? This one's white, with  _beautiful_  blue oars. We got it through a friend."

"I always loved the water," Melanie said from her knitting. "Especially the ocean. I always wanted to go open ocean sailing."

"Oh, yeah, it's great," Wyatt said. "I went once, off the coast of Italy, absolutely great."

" _Moooooooom,_ why can't we go sailing?" the little boy asked, moving over to Melanie. She gave a slight sigh and set her knitting down.

"Honey, it's not very safe for that right now. What if you fell in? It would be too cold for you to swim to shore, and I don't want you to get sick or worse."

And just like that, the pleasant chatter felt like sand paper being raked across his face. Oliver tried to cover it as Gina excused herself back to the kitchen, Gary humphed to Jodie about how the rain  _really wasn't that big a deal,_  and one of Aaron's sisters listened attentively to Wyatt's tales of sailing in Italy. Oliver swallowed back the nauseated sensation he had in the back of his throat, wondering how he could get out of the conversation, rip himself away so he could breathe through whatever the hell it was buzzing against his skin.

"Where's the bathroom?" he asked Annie, leaning over to her.

"Oh, down the hall, past the staircase, on the left," she said. "Little picture of stars just outside."

"Thanks," he said, and pushed himself out of the living room. He hurried down the hall, trying to outpace the conversation that chased after him, but then he was in the bathroom, door locked, light on, hands braced over the sink.

What  _happened?_  Oliver closed his eyes, trying to calm that awful tipping sensation in his head, like his world was being swiped off the board and into a chasm below.

Maybe because it had been so unexpected, the topic popping up and then straying somewhere awful before Oliver could call it back. Or maybe it was of how comfortable he had been, the atmosphere welcoming in a way home should have been. Mix that with the recent longing to see his own family, Thea and Moira and even his own father.

His father, the man Oliver refused to think about if given any sort of choice. His father, the final kick in the teeth of Oliver's life, because he had drowned on the  _Queens Gambit_  and Oliver had not.

But it was still ridiculous that the memory would push him to this. It had been  _years_  since the accident and Oliver couldn't recall reacting this violently, even while in mourning. But now all it had taken were a few innocent comments, and then his skin had been crawling and demanding that he  _get away,_  and then there had been no helping it. It hadn't even been the mention of  _boats_  that triggered him, Oliver had been all around them, even  _ridden_ on them in the interloping years.

He chanced a look at himself in the mirror. He looked bad, an edginess hiding in his eyes that was not suited to Thanksgiving dinner. He made himself keep looking, though, seeking out the differences between his face and Ollie Queen's, needing to see them, needing the proof that he was not the same man, that  _something_  had changed. His hair was cut short and allowed to be its natural dark blond, not the pretentious golden color he'd worn in high school and his attempts at college. He had scruff, his clothes were well used and fit him the way a tailored suit never could. His gaze was far more serious than it had ever had cause to be. Different. He was  _different_. He was not the stupid boy that fate had both kissed and cursed as he floundered his way out of the wreckage.

Oliver pulled out his phone, desperate to shake the anxiety from his head. He had a new text from Diggle, a photo of Carly, AJ, and Lyla all gathered together and blowing kisses.  _Wish you were here,_  was the message attached. Oliver's heart ached for a moment, but it was so much cleaner than before, providing the proof he had been seeking. Oliver Queen wouldn't have given three damns about his head of security's family, or who he even was outside of keeping the Queens safe.

 _thanks,_ he texted back.  _miss you guys._

Oliver looked at the picture for a few more moments, then put his phone away. He checked himself in the mirror again. Still haunted. He splashed some water on his face and looked again. It took a few tries, but the smile he hauled onto his features didn't seem forced. Bright, charming, everything Felicity had asked for and everything he needed to get through the rest of the night.

He sucked in a breath, then forced himself out of the bathroom. Oliver made himself move slow because he was  _not_  running, he was taking the time to examine this facet of his girlfriend's life. He looked at the picture of stars Annie had mentioned. It was beautiful, a photograph of the night sky with all of the stars dyed a shade of light green or blue. He glanced over the other photographs in the hall, each one consisting of Gina's family or other shots of nature.

The conversation from the living room pitched again, jolting Oliver's nerves. He stood still, considering, then turned away and walked through to the empty dining room. There was a doorway connecting the room to the kitchen, a set of white saloon doors standing as a quaint barrier. He could see Felicity, Donna, and Gina moving around inside, the soft murmur of their conversation not quite loud enough to form words. He tilted his head. Felicity's distinctive rush of words didn't sound happy.

"Felicity?" he called, moving closer to the doorway. She paused what she was saying and looked at him over the door.

"Yeah?"

"How's it going in there?" he asked. He was now close enough to lean over the top of the door to look down at her (she wasn't quite tall enough for the door to clear her eyeline, now that her shoes were discarded by the front door). She had donned a retro blue-green apron with a cupcake on the bottom corner, sparing her clothes from the mess of the kitchen. A small smudge of flour was on her cheek, though, indicating her hard work on the apple pie.

"How's it going? It's—it's good," she said. Lie. "The pie's almost ready to go in the oven—"

"Nope, it's in now," Donna chirped, straightening from the oven door. "My cooking skills may be shot, but I made sure we Smoak women can make desserts and dress well!"

Felicity closed her eyes like she was asking for patience, then nodded. "The pie will be great, I promise."

"You say that like  _everything_ won't be delicious," Gina ribbed from the stove. "Oliver, I'm telling you, whatever these two have been saying is a  _lie._  Thanksgiving is a time for delicious, delicious food and for families to nearly murder each other."

"I'm excited, either way," he smiled. Oliver looked back at Felicity for a moment, then carefully reached over the door. She was puzzled for a moment as he brushed the flour off of her face, then started, eyes widening as she snapped a hand up to her cheek.

"Oh, geez, how long has that been there?" she asked, scrubbing at the offending flour.

"It's fine, just a bit of flour."

"At least it wasn't something that would have stained, like cranberry sauce."

"Oliver," Donna cut in, "am I to take this that you've never had her apple pie before?"

"Nope."

" _Felicity,_ " she said, exaggerating her shock. "First rule, get the boys through their stomachs."

"I like to think I lured him in with my stimulating conversation and smarts," she muttered, giving a very unamused look to the bottom of the door.

" _Oliver,_ " Donna said, turning her all too frothy verve onto him. Oliver knew enough to spot that it was a little too sharp to be real. "Which would you prefer—delicious food, or…"

Felicity pulled an aggravated face that only Oliver could see, waiting for the condemnation of the other option.

"I liked her smarts," Oliver said easily, meeting Donna's eye. Donna looked at him for a moment, eyebrows raised in slight surprise. His answer had been true, though. Not only had Oliver never  _tasted_  Felicity's baking, but he also was intrigued by her strange combination of quick wit and frazzled stalling out. Her rambles did have the unfortunate habit of becoming awkward, but that was largely due to the fact that her mind sprinted on ahead before her sense could catch up.

"I always like to think an accomplished woman straddles the line between brains and homemaking brilliance," Gina said, clearly trying to keep the peace. Donna made a light joke about not  _everyone_  being as talented as  _you,_ Gina, and let herself be carried away from the previous topic. Felicity was watching him, though, a brighter look of surprise on her face.

"Here, Oliver, why don't you come in here and help us?" Gina asked, beckoning him in.

"What's left to make?" he asked, edging into the room. He had learned a lot in the past five years, but how to make Thanksgiving dinner was  _not_  one of them.

"Oh, I was thinking a drink or something, maybe lemonade."

"From scratch?" Felicity asked, turning away from Oliver.

"Is there any other way?" Gina asked, a drink pitcher appearing in her hands.

A few minutes later, Oliver found himself loading water into the pitcher, as Felicity added in frozen hand-squeezed lemon juice. At his inquiry, Gina explained that her family liked going to u-pick orchards every year, and that summer had involved too many lemons. He listened and dutifully handed Felicity a wooden spoon, trying to find the middle ground between Donna and Felicity that Gina so easily danced through. As awkward as it sometimes became, though, Oliver was thankful of the tension. It helped remind him that families were difficult and frustrating and nowhere near as romanticized as his longing for his own had let him think. It wouldn't have been family without a  _little_  friction.

"Hey, Oliver, can you hand me the sugar?" Felicity asked, gesturing vaguely at one of the upper cabinets. He looked at them a moment, considered asking her to clarify, then made a quick decision.

He grabbed Felicity by the waist and hoisted her up toward the set of cabinets. She squawked and slapped her hands down on his, clenching onto them in a death grip.

" _What're you doing put me down!_ " she gasped, voice somehow managing to rise a few pitches yet also grab some terrified gravel. He bit down his laughter, even as Gina and Donna laughed helplessly.

"Don't you want the sugar?"

Felicity was hissing in complaints and probably curses under her breath, but she did reach out to get the sugar from the cabinet. Oliver gently set her back down, and instantly she had discarded the sugar container and was slapping his chest with both hands.

" _I said get me sugar not send me to the International Space Station!_ " she snapped, even more annoyed by the laughter he couldn't contain. "Oh my gosh, you scared the  _crap_  out of me! If wanted to go up there myself, I would have asked for a stool!"

"You got your sugar," he pointed out, catching hold of her hands with both of his.

"Not the point!" she huffed, then her mouth quirked traitorously. "Stop it, no, I am mad at you! You can't just  _do_  that to people you don't even—"

"Warn first?" he said smoothly, suddenly aware of Donna and Gina standing behind him, watching everything.

"…Yes!" she said, a little slower to recover from her near slip. "That is a  _no-no_."

"Okay," he said, kissing her hands to further the distraction, just in case. Felicity pretended to huff, then turned back to the pitcher of lemonade. She stirred in some sugar, then poured a small sample.

"Here, Mom, try this."

"What about me?" Oliver asked, trying to smother his smile.

" _You_  are in the  _doghouse,_ " she said, shooting him a very non-lethal glare.

"Not bad," Donna said after a sip. "Needs a smidge more water, hon."

Felicity doctored the lemonade, then frog-marched Oliver into the living room with cups. They served everyone drinks as Gina announced the food was ready. Felicity sat down on the couch as people started filing into the kitchen for their buffet-styled lunch and pulled her legs up onto the couch. She tucked them under her skirt, then noticed that Oliver hadn't sat down yet. She patted the cushion next to her, making Oliver sat down next to her. This time, Felicity immediately melted into him. Oliver took this as license to wrap an arm around her shoulders and take hold of her hand (he would have gone for her knee, but she had seemed very serious about her legs being on the  _do not touch_  list).

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, watching the living room empty.

"Honestly, I've been sneaking food since I walked into the kitchen," she confided. "Don't tell Gina, she has a very strict 'we eat together' rule."

Oliver's mouth quirked, which Felicity didn't seem to notice as she asked if he was hungry.

"I'll manage," he said, enjoying the time to just sit and relax. He had been so careful about each word and movement since walking through the front door, not to mention his almost desperate determination to shake whatever had chased him to the bathroom. He was wound tighter than he would have expected, and it was nice to sit and not perform for anyone for the first time that afternoon. "It's going well," he murmured after a moment, earning a sigh from Felicity.

" _Yes,_  it is. Though, honestly, I'm just glad that no one's dropped dead, or that Aaron hasn't been banned from college or something."

Oliver gave her a look. Felicity realized that what she had said was odd and opened her mouth to explain, then shook her head.

"Nope, not worth explaining. My family didn't do anything  _too_  weird while I was out, though, did they?"

"…Jodie was determined to have everyone explain 'exotic youth piercings' to her."

"Oh no," she whispered. Oliver nodded, grimacing slightly at the memory.

"Melanie had to change the subject when Prince Alberts were brought up."

"Oh my gosh," she said, burying her face in her hands. "That is the actual worst."

"How is Jodie even related to your family?"

"She's not, she's Uncle Gary's best friend's mother. When he was first stationed overseas, he asked Gary to have her over for the holidays, just to keep her company. She obviously thought it counted for  _every_  holiday."

"Come on, you two, there won't be any food left!" Aaron said, popping his head back into the room.

"Guess we have to get up, now. Are you a stuffing person?" Felicity asked as she slid off the couch. She held out her hand to help Oliver up. He considered it for a second, then took it. Her dark red nails had one white flower on each hand.

"No?"

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," she whispered, walking out of the living room with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CUTE CUDDLY OLIVER IS THE BEST OLIVER EVEN IF IT'S FOUNDED ON A LIE I DON'T CARE WHAT PEOPLE SAY


	5. a good night, more or less

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I feel like I say it every time, BUT THIS CHAPTER. It just makes me so very happy. I love Felicity's family, I feel like they really embody the delightful crazy we all have in our families ;)
> 
> I also like this chapter because it shows a little bit more of what's going on in Felicity's head. There's quite a bit more happening with her than even I realized at first, so it's nice to explore that.

After they loaded up their plates (which was momentarily stalled by her five year old cousin Luke trying to eat only pie and the ensuing battle for dominance between father and son), Felicity and Oliver settled back on the couch. The crowd had thinned some, as a few people split off to eat in the dining room. The conversation was a little milder, since Jodie had sought out the stories Gina had been holding in reserve, and Gary was fixated on getting his children to eat their green beans.

Now that they were in the middle of Thanksgiving, Felicity stopped feeling so nervous. Just like Barry, Cisco, and Caitlin had said, things were working out alright. It wasn't just her throwing balls in the air and praying she could pretend to juggle while her family watched. Oliver was there to help her, charming everyone with his melt-worthy smiles and his quiet humor and his easy manner.

As they finished eating Felicity's purse chimed, indicating a new text. While Oliver offered to take away her plate, she retrieved her phone from her bag. The text had come from Barry's phone, but she suspected Cisco had been the one to send it.

_how is it?_

As she began tapping in a reply _(don't rush me I'm family time-ing),_  a new text came in.

_pics or it didn't happen._

She sighed, trying to fight her smile because this was  _serious_ , and sent her text. Felicity was tempted to sneak over and snap a photo of Oliver as he rinsed their plates in the kitchen, but she had a feeling that her friends wanted something more detailed than a vague long distance shot from the hall. And there was no way she was comfortable enough to grab a photo of Oliver when he was right there. No, this required precision.

_how's it going, tho?_

_It's good. We just had lunch dinner thing._

_no one die?_

She supposed she deserved that one. No matter how legitimate it had seemed at the time…her fears had been a little excessive. Still, she had some sort of dignity to maintain, so with aloof she went.

_Hilarious. Full disclosure later._

Felicity rested her phone against her stomach, thinking over the afternoon so far. Her family had been their own sort of difficult, but they meant well and they seemed to like Oliver, at least. And the charade she and Oliver had been maintaining was working out.

Oliver came back into the room, and seeing him again made Felicity pause a moment. It was like her brain had forgotten how handsome he was for the two seconds he had left the room (that grey and black Henley he was wearing was exceptionally fitted and _exceptionally_ unfair). He sat back down beside her and resumed his conversation with Melanie and Aaron's younger sister, Nicole.

It took a matter of moments for Felicity to realize that she liked being seated next to Oliver, for no other reason than he was probably the most conscientious pillow she had ever cuddled against. She didn't  _mean_  to end up resting against him, but it always seemed to happen. When they had eaten, she adjusted the way she was sitting and his arm had automatically reached around to hold her just a little bit closer. After, their arms ended up entwined and his shoulder just so happened to be a very prominent, very wonderful resting place for her head. Then, when they watched a movie (one of the Bourne movies, but edited to preserve the children's impressionable ears), Felicity was certain she had started out next to Oliver in the parlor, but by the time the credits rolled she found herself uncomfortably close to sitting on his lap. Oliver— _bless him_ —did not give her so much as a second look when she carefully extricated herself from his side. Then again, she was about ninety-nine percent sure he was the one facilitating all of this,  _so._  Not  _too_  much gratitude sent his way.

The benefit of the whole movie snuggle fest was that when Oliver used getting a drink as an excuse for her to compose herself, he was stopped by Gina on the way out. This, Felicity realized, was a beautiful opportunity to take a very respectable photo of him.

As she sent the picture off to Barry's phone, Felicity had to be very, very thankful for high definition cameras.

 _holy crap,_ was the responding text. _THAT'S oliver?_

 _Yes,_  Felicity texted, and left it at that.

Things were a little bit better on the physical contact front when Felicity and Oliver finally gave in to her cousin's constant pleas to play some sort of game with them. At least, when one of them was playing Speed with a six year old, there was no conceivable way for excessive cuddling to sneak its way in.

"Fizzy?" Donna called. Felicity looked up from the cards she was dealing out as her mother appeared in the doorway of the parlor.

"Hm?"

"Could you come help me with some of the dishes? I don't want to make Gina do most of the cooking and cleaning."

"…Yeah, sure," she said, slowly putting down her cards.

"Awh, Felicity, you're leaving?" Taylor asked, looking crestfallen. "We haven't even started yet!"

"That's okay," Siobhan said, collecting Felicity's cards. "Here, I'll play with you, and then she can play the first round when she gets back."

Felicity got up to leave, but couldn't keep herself from glancing back as she left the room. Oliver was watching her, brow slightly furrowed.

"Okay, so dishes," Felicity said, clapping her hands together as she entered the kitchen. "Where'd my apron go?"

"Here," Donna said, tossing it over. She had never removed her own and could have almost passed for a fifties housewife (if fifties housewives wore spray tans and dresses that showed a little too much cleavage). Felicity liked it when her mother was like this, working to help other people and not running around for the latest man or bit of gossip. All she could see then was her mother's big heart and not the busy body that encased it.

"So,  _Oliver_ ," Donna began, and instantly Felicity's heart sank.

"So, Oliver," she repeated, hoping to stall the conversation by being as unhelpful as possible.

"He's nice," her mother said, like there was a catch, a snag, a little oopsie Felicity had somehow not noticed. Felicity narrowed her eyes.

 _"Yes,_  he is."

"I mean, very attractive, quite the catch physically at least, and he's handling the Lowe herd well enough—"

" _But?_ "

"But…sweetie, don't you think he's a little…out of your league?"

"Oh my gosh," Felicity said, snapping her hands into the air like she was dropping the conversation there and then. She turned away from her mother and started grabbing things to put into the dishwasher.

Had her mother  _really_  just said that? She had been drowning under all of her fears of Donna being inappropriate or commenting on Oliver's body or their sex life or how finally,  _finally_  her little Fizzy had brought home a boy, yet this was what she got? Oliver apparently being  _too good_  for her.

"Not in a mean way," Donna added quickly, which earned a very angry snort from Felicity. "I've always raised you to shoot for the stars, but…"

"But now that I've actually caught one, I need to step back? Because obviously,  _obviously_  something wrong happened to allow this." Felicity kept her voice low, even though she couldn't see anyone in the living room. She didn't need Jodie spewing this back out to the rest of the family.

"No, that's not what I  _mean—"_

"Okay, Mom. What'd you mean?"

"Just…it  _is_  a little bit odd, isn't it? Him, with you…"

"Him, an eleven out of ten, with me, a strong six on a good day. Thanks for the pep talk, Mom."

"No, Felicity,  _listen_ ," Donna snapped, banging down the pot she was holding. That caught Felicity's attention. Her mother never lost her temper. "You've known Oliver for…three months?"

"Yes."

"He just…he rings some warning bells, honey."

"Like  _what?_ " Felicity demanded, ruffled and suddenly nervous that her mother knew, that she could smell the escort on him.

"The way you and he…I don't know, he watches you like…like you're something to  _do,_  a box to check."

"Excuse me?"

"Honey…boys like him don't go for girls like you."

Felicity grit her teeth, stabbing the silverware into the rack.

Girls like her? What, awkward, smart, not-pretty girls that wore clothes that actually covered their boobs, unlike Donna? Girls with real, strange, lovable families, girls that didn't lie about being rich to their one night stands because  _'what he doesn't know, doesn't hurt him'?_

"Sweet girls, Felicity," Donna said gently, which very much caught her by surprise. Felicity looked up at her mother and let out a long, slow breath. She needed to calm down. She was jumping to conclusions and that just—

"He's a player, I know one when I see one! If you made a little more, I would have said he was with you for your money—"

Felicity actually laughed at that, because  _funny._  Here she was with an escort, and the one thing her mother  _wasn't_  worried about was him being after her for the money.

"Listen to me, Felicity. I've seen boys like him and it's fun and great in the beginning, but later…it's you on your couch with ice cream and no boyfriend."

"Which is  _okay!_ " she snapped, because  _excuse her_ , but she had literally done that last week. She bit her voice back down to keep from attracting attention. "My life isn't defined by a  _boyfriend,_  Mom!"

"I just want you to be careful, things can go wrong! He can hurt you, Felicity."

"Have you—have you even been  _watching_  us?" Felicity demanded, eyes closed and feeling kind of defensive because she had been freaking out and working her  _ass_  off to make sure they looked like a happy couple. Oliver was playing it all perfectly, hitting every cue and opportunity. He looked like her boyfriend, not some douchebag Donna was imagining. His whole role there was engineered to make her family believe things were good! And now her mother was concerned they were  _too_  good?

"Yes, honey, and I'm worried! I didn't want to say anything, but…it seemed kind of superficial."

No. No, she wasn't doing this, she wasn't skirting the reasons why her _fake boyfriend_  seemed shallow to her mother.

 _"Mom,_  you literally are the epitome of froth! Why can't I have some light, stupid, happy fun times?!"

"Because you're  _not_  the light, stupid fun times kind of person! You take good, steady boys, not pretty ones with a nice smile. Have you…have you two had sex?"

" _Mom!_ " Felicity gasped. She wasn't really surprised, and yet was still appalled her mother had said it.

"Have you?"

 _"No,"_  she hiss whispered, stepping closer. "No we haven't."

"Has he pushed you to?"

"What are you even—?"

"Has he? Because, Felicity, don't you do it. These kinds of boys take good girls like you because they think it's fun to  _ruin_  them. If you're not ready, not comfortable, and he keeps insisting, that's  _not_  the kind of boy you want to date."

"I know that!" Felicity snapped. "And he hasn't! He's a  _gentleman."_

The only things he had touched so far were her arms or her back. Not even his  _pinky_  had touched so much as her knee.

"He's a gentleman  _now,"_  Donna said, drying off a pan. "It's  _later_  I'm worried about."

"Really, Mom? Because it  _really_  seems like you're just trying to poke holes in this. He's a scumbag, he wants into my pants, there's nothing good to come of him. What has he done to earn this? Been too nice? Got along with my family too well?"

"I don't know," Donna said, shaking her head. "It's just _…something_  about him. He's going to take your heart and break it, and I can't—I can't watch you go through that."

"Well, guess what, Mom? I'm happy. I'm  _happy_  with Oliver, and now you're assuming the worst because I can't be with a smart, polite, handsome guy, not weird geeky Felicity Smoak, the girl who was making her own computer when everyone else was getting drunk and having sex at prom!"

"I'm  _not_  saying he's too good for you!"

"No, Mom, that's  _exactly_  what you said," Felicity told her, rinsing off her hands. "Sorry, I can't do this, I can't do this right now. Get someone else to do the dishes with you, I can't stand here and have you insult me and my boyfriend to my face."

Felicity took off her apron, and draped it over the door knob.

_"Felicity—"_

_"No._  I know you mean well," Felicity said, turning back in the doorway to look at her mother, "but this isn't really something that involves you."

Felicity walked back to the parlor, anger stomping around in her head. The thing that made her angriest, though, was how  _genuine_  her mother looked, how determined she was to help her daughter. She thought she was doing the right thing. And maybe, if the situation was different, it would have been true. But that wasn't the case. Even if Oliver  _hadn't_  been hired to everything her family could have hoped for, if they really had met by happenstance in a café, if he had thought she was cute and had met her friends and had picked her up in the kitchen because he thought she was adorable when fake-mad and touched her back and her arm and held her hand so much because he l _iked her,_  even if  _all_  of that was real, Oliver Dearden was not the type of man to hurt her that way. He just  _wasn't._

Oliver looked up when she reentered the parlor, a question in his eyes. Felicity didn't say anything, just dropped down beside him, wrapped her arms around his chest, then squeezed, because she was upset and she needed to hug her anger out.

She could feel Oliver looking down at her, felt how he was rigid in her arms, uncertain about what had happened. But he wrapped an arm around her and settled a hand over her ribs. And perfect human being that he was, Oliver gently stroked his thumb back and forth in a silent attempt at comfort.

The rest of the evening went well, more or less. Wyatt and Jodie had a bit of a blow out over Siobhan and there was a slight tantrum between Gary's kids and Gina's youngest, but somehow they all managed to make it to dessert without anything insane happening. Donna, when she did speak to Felicity, complimented the apple pie and gave a sincere smile that was more apology than anything. But not for what she'd said. Donna would stick to her guns about Oliver's alleged awfulness until proved otherwise. Which was a problem, because he was never going to have the change to prove otherwise.

And, Felicity realized with an annoyed bite of pecan pie, it kind of wrecked her get-out-relationships-free card, as Donna's  _I told you so_  when Oliver 'cheated' on her would be unbearable.

But that was an issue for another day.

Felicity tuned into the current conversation, where Melanie was cheerfully detailing the benefits of a homegrown meal.

"It's not entirely the same, I can't make as much and my crops aren't as big, but it cuts down on bills. And the flavor is better," she told Nicole.

"It's how I raised my kids," Jodie said. "Everything from raspberries to tomatoes."

Gina walked over to sit on the couch, and Felicity obligingly moved her empty pie plate to accommodate her.

"Were you two going to stay the night?" she asked quietly. Felicity straightened, giving her full attention to her aunt. Oliver turned to look at the woman as well, feeling Felicity stiffen next to him. "I just wanted to know so I can start finding beds for everyone."

"Oh, uhm…what time is it?" Felicity asked, trying to buy herself time, because  _crap,_  she hadn't thought of this.

"Almost eight," Oliver said softly, his voice humming through his ribs and going straight into Felicity's bones.

"Oh, ah…no?" she said, looking up at Oliver with hardly concealed panic.

"Okay, thanks," Gina said, giving a light smile and patting Felicity's thigh.

"What do you mean, you're not staying over?" Jodie called indignantly from across the room, making Felicity's breath catch. Apparently, their soft tones hadn't been soft enough.

Instantly, the whole room was focused on Oliver and Felicity. One of the kids asked, "You're  _leaving?_ ", which started everyone else talking.

"What? Thanksgiving weekend, and you can't even stay the night?"

"You can stay a little longer, can't you?"

"But it's like you just came!"

Beside Felicity, Gina closed her eyes, as if asking for strength.

"This is why I asked quietly," she muttered, then set her hands down on her lap. "It's fine if they don't say," she said loudly. "I'm just glad they could be here now."

"But it's  _Thanksgiving,"_  Gary protested.

"And some people have things to do," Wyatt pointed out.

"On the Friday after Thanksgiving?"

"Yep. Black Friday sales to catch up on, stuff like that," Felicity said. The most she received in response were a few flat looks, though Wyatt did give her a concealed smirk.

"But you'll at least come again," Jodie said. "You know how big the winter season is in our house."

"It's not  _your_  house, Jodie," Siobhan muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Hanukkah is just around the corner," Melanie said quickly, heading off another argument before it began.

"Yeah! And you've got Mom's birthday, too," Aaron piped up. Felicity gave a smile, because she was terrified and had no idea how to respond.

"I…I don't know," she stalled, looking desperately at Oliver for help. "Oliver might be busy, and…"

"It really depends on my work schedule," he said, turning his eyes back to her. Felicity hoped he picked up on the ' _are you freaking kidding me right now?_ ' in her eyes, because she was really honestly looking for him to be the hard ass bad guy and say  _'no we cannot come back_ ', not dump the responsibility back onto her by subtly saying she determined his work schedule.

"I don't know," she repeated. "I guess—I mean, we'd both have to check our jobs, and…you know, things come up. I don't want to be bailing out of work every week until Christmas."

"It's all up to you," Gina reminded Felicity.

"Either way, we'll be here for Hanukkah," Wyatt said.

"And we're staying for Gina's birthday," Gary said.

"We'll see," Felicity said finally. Gina directed the conversation away again, and Felicity breathed a sigh of…not relief, but also not mind numbing panic. Oliver didn't say anything to her, just ran his thumb over the back of her hand. Despite her momentary frustration with him, Felicity felt a quiet pang of future loss. Why couldn't she hire him to be her source of everyday comfort?

 _Because you can't afford him_ , she thought with a glum sigh, thinking of the check she still had to cut him. Dammit, why couldn't she be rich?

"We ought to go soon," Felicity whispered to Oliver. He nodded but didn't look away from Annie, who was regaling the living room with tales from her yoga class. Felicity groaned quietly to herself when he didn't make their excuses, because she was kind of definitely hoping he would coax her from the couch, saving her from resorting to her own will power. This was becoming a very disappointing trend.

"Well, you guys, it's been great being here, but we should head home," Felicity said, finally hauling herself up from the couch. There was another round of protests and complaints, but people started standing up, readying themselves for goodbye hugs.

Gina hugged Felicity first, squeezing her tight and whispering, "We've loved having you two," in Felicity's ear. Felicity moved on to hug Taylor, noticing that Gina invariably held her arms out to Oliver as well. She saw him stoop down for the hug as Taylor dragged her attention away with an attempted tickle.

Felicity and Oliver worked their way down the goodbye line, smiling and hugging and wishing everyone happy holidays. Felicity kept wary track of her progress, watching her mother loom nearer and nearer. Donna was wearing a smile and playing with Luke, but Felicity caught the way she kept casting looks in her direction. Then she was right there, and Felicity had to take a moment to punch down any resentment and petulance she felt, because this was her mother and she was saying goodbyes.  _Never leave on an ugly note,_  Donna had always said, which was a gospel Felicity lived by (even though it had been cast in the context of drunk customers and difficult employers, because it was completely true).

She hugged her mother, breathing in the smell of her perfume and hairspray and hard work in the kitchen.

"Am I…still welcome to come by on Sunday?" Donna asked hesitantly, and for a moment Felicity thought about saying no. She was well within her rights, having her mother over was always difficult, things were rocky between them as it was…she didn't have to say yes.

"Yeah," she said, pulling back to look her mother in the face. "Yeah, it'll…it'll be good to have you over."

Donna broke into a big, chubby cheeked grin, relief and delight making her so pretty that Felicity wanted to do nothing but hug her again.

"Okay, yes, okay! We can hang out and go shopping and just talk."

"Okay," Felicity said, charity dampening just a bit. Talking was something they really should do. But it, like everything else…it would be difficult.

Felicity moved over to hug Luke, which had the added bonus of a lisped "I love you, Fizzy" and a messy little kid kiss, then she moved over to Annie.

"He's a cutie," she said. "And a nice boy, too."

 _Finally._  At least  _someone_  saw Oliver for the gem he really was…or at least, the gem he was paid to be.

Gina reappeared with two plastic containers of food, insisting that Felicity take and share them with Oliver. Felicity thanked her, but kept an eye on Oliver, who had just reached her mother. There was a tense moment (or maybe it was just in her head), then Donna went up on her tiptoes to hug Oliver's neck, gushing about him being good to her daughter and keeping her safe on the drive home.

Felicity and Oliver moved to the door, but then Donna squealed and waved for Felicity to come back for just one more hug.

"Goodbye, goodbye, I love you all," Felicity said, backing to the door. She slipped on her shoes, praising herself for picking shoes without buckles, and let Oliver help her with her jacket. Everyone called their goodbyes in return, wishing them safe journey, love, and happiness, and then they were out of the house and walking through the dark.

"Here, let me take those," Oliver said, already easing the food away from Felicity as she fumbled for her keys.

"Oh, thanks," she said, finally grabbing her keys and unlocking the car. "Do you want some of the spoils, by the way? Gina gave me more than enough for two."

"No, I'm fine," he said, climbing into the car. Felicity got in beside him, backed out, waved to her family still congregated in the doorway, then drove back down the drive.

"Oooooooooh geez, it's over," she sighed, unclenching her hands from the steering wheel. "All good? Nothing awful happen since we last checked in?"

"All good," Oliver confirmed, then added, "Jodie pinched me when we said goodbye."

"She pinched you? Like on the arm, or the— _oh_."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"I…am very sorry about that. I didn't think sexual harassment was in the cards for you, else I would have warned you or something."

"It's fine," he said, half a smile in his voice. Felicity wondered if his nonchalance had anything to do with his habitually being objectified, then told herself to knock it off, because that was rude.

"I just can't believe that it went so well," Felicity admitted, watching the lights of town fade into view. "I mean… _wow_."

"Your family was nice. But I see what you mean about them being a bit much."

"Yeah. But things were pretty good today," she said, smiling a little. "It was good to see them."

Oliver gave a noncommittal nod, staring out of the windshield. Felicity glanced at him, the streetlamps passing orange light over his face. He looked impassive, powering himself down from an evening of flawless play pretend. He was quiet Oliver Dearden once more, tucking everything from view. Maybe that was how he did his job. Beyond changing his look or flipping the switch and making someone feel like the most important thing in the world, maybe Oliver got through by keeping his brain very, very quiet when not on call.

That seemed like a very empty way to live.

The conversation back to Starling was much more relaxed than on the way to her aunt's house. They mostly talked about her family, but some of their conversation was more general. Oliver seemed a little tired, his responses softer than they had been all night.

"Do you, uhm, want me to drop you at your door?" Felicity asked as they entered Starling. "Save you bus fare."

"…Sure," he said, like he was weighing his options as he spoke. Oliver directed her to his neighborhood, a small set of residential buildings mixing with renovated shops and warehouses that butted up against the Glades. Felicity pulled off to the curb before the building he indicated and put the car in park.

"Hold on, let me grab my checkbook," she said, flicking on the light and reaching into the back seat for her purse. She pulled the checkbook out and quickly wrote the check for Oliver. "All good?" she asked, holding it out to him.

He glanced it over and gave a nod. Felicity tore the check out, suddenly feeling awkward. This was it, this was the last time she'd see him. It felt…false, somehow, like she was paying Oliver to leave after having witnessed one of the most intimate parts of her life. She didn't feel like the kind of person to do this.

"Thank you," Oliver said, unbuckling and opening the door.

"No, thank you," she said, completely meaning it. "You  _legitimately_  saved my life today, thank you so much."

"It was my pleasure," Oliver told her. He gave her one last smile, this one wide and sincere and not hiding a thing. Felicity blinked, stunned into smiling back.

"Have a good night," she said, uncertain how to bid farewell to someone she was never going to see again.

"Safe trip home," he said, and got out of her car. Oliver walked back to his apartment building, hands in his pockets, breath flowering white in the dark.

Felicity shook herself, turned off the light, and quietly drove home. The radio hummed to her the whole way, but she felt strangely alone without his constant heat at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you to know that when I was writing this for the Beta Branch Big Bang, I was seriously tempted to end the story here to meet the deadline, and then make the rest of Oliver and Felicity's considerable story a separate piece called 'it's the happiest season of all', WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN A LITTLE BIT PERFECT. But also a cop out that may never have been finished. But I didn't do that, because I'm a decent human being ;)


	6. the morning after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys make me chuckle. After my comment about how, in another life, the last chapter could have been the end of the story, I did not expect the flood of thank yous from everyone for continuing it! I mean, the story would have gone on one way or another ;)
> 
> Thank you a hundred fold for all of the love you pour my direction! Each review, favorite, and alert makes me smile :D

The rest of Felicity's weekend went reasonably well. After she returned home, she managed to text Barry a promise of a full recap in the morning, then promptly fell asleep. The next morning, after cursing herself for not cleaning off her make up properly and then scraping together breakfast, she called him.

"Hey," she said, sounding far perkier than she felt. "Cisco and Caitlin there?"

"Yeah, they stayed the night. Hold on," he said, presumably going off to find them.

Felicity stirred her coffee as he filled her in on his uneventful holiday. He recounted delicious food, dumb jokes, and an unfortunate situation where Eddie, Iris' boyfriend, had challenged Barry to a pie eating contest (Eddie apparently hadn't realized Barry's stomach was actually a wormhole before the challenge had been issued). Barry played it cool enough, but she heard the melancholy every time he mentioned Eddie and Iris together. Someday, after those two didn't work out, Barry would tell Iris how he felt and things would be much better. Until then—

"Okay, tell me what happened and don't spare me the gritty details," Cisco demanded. Judging by Barry's muffled protests, Cisco had snatched the phone away and was now hoarding it for himself.

" _Speaker,"_  Caitlin demanded, followed by a groan from Cisco and an abrupt change of sound quality.

" _Okay go,_ " Cisco commanded, sounding all too eager for the recount of Felicity's night.

"Well," she began, wondering how to start, "it wasn't awful. My family seemed to like him?"

"Liked him,  _question mark_?" Cisco asked, mimicking her uncertain tone.

"Well, my Grandma Jodie pinched his butt when she said goodbye."

"That's the fake one, right?" Barry asked, while Cisco burst into laughter and Caitlin gave a shocked  _oh my gosh!_

"Yes. The very obnoxious rude one. We weren't five minutes in the door when she asked if we had sex in the car on the way over."

"I am  _so_ glad Ronnie's family is nice," Caitlin sighed, while the boys tried to stifle their laughter in the background.

"Other than that, though, it was great," Felicity said, conveniently skipping over the part where her mother accused Oliver of being some jerk that wanted to get into Felicity's pants and break her heart. No one really needed to hear that. "I mean, guy's  _great_  at play acting. I can't describe, it's just— _ping!_ —and then suddenly he's on, smiling and looking at you like you are the most interesting thing in the world. I don't know  _how_ , but oh my gosh. Talk about great training."

"Okay, though, what's he like?" Caitlin asked. Felicity hummed, thinking about it.

"He's quiet," she said, recalling the different times she had seen Oliver. All the same person, all what she had more or less expected, and yet all a little different. "It's like...he's waiting to see what you're going to do and then he acts accordingly. Even when it was just us in the car—totally not an axe murderer, by the way—I felt like he was basing his next move off of what I did. He didn't say anything until I  _begged_  him to tell me more about him."

"So he's private?"

" _Very_  much so. It was like pulling teeth. But, you know, I get that. I mean, if somebody's hiring you for the night, you're not about to hand out your life, are you? It's kind of a private job that way."

"What else, though?" Barry asked. "I mean, how did you two interact? You said there wasn't going to be any physical stuff, so…I guess I'm wondering how he handled that?"

"Amazing," Felicity said. "I mean, we still  _touched_  and stuff, but nothing gross." She grimaced at the sound of her own words. There was that phrase again. She was hereby abolishing it from her catalog of sexual descriptors.

"I hear a  _'but'_ ," Caitlin said, and  _damn_  her feminine intuition. Felicity didn't know how to explain the absolute cuddle fest she had had with Oliver without making it awkward.

"But…I was just a little surprised by some of it. He was…completely casual, like this really was something we did all the time, but I could tell that wasn't really  _him,_  you know? Like, we were making lemonade and I asked him to grab the sugar—"

" _Did he take your sugars please say yes."_

"What, Cisco,  _no,_ " Felicity gasped, suddenly graced with the image of Oliver seizing the opportunity to 'take her sugar' by kissing her neck.  _Nope._  Not a good place to keep her mind. "No, instead he did this—I still can't believe it—he grabbed me by my waist and then  _picked me up_  so I could get the sugar from the cabinet."

"He did  _not,_ " Caitlin said, torn between shock and amusement. Barry in turn let out a low whistle.

"He's smooth."

"He scared the  _crap_  out of me! And I have told you, this guy is  _huge?_  He's enormous, clearing six foot easy—"

" _I'm_  over six foot," Barry pointed out, a little self-consciously.

"Okay,  _yeah,_  but  _no._  You're over six foot but also built like a  _toothpick._  Did you pay attention to that picture I sent you of him? The guy's a brick wall.  _Anyway,_  the guy's  _a giant,_  and he's holding me so my hips are about level with his head. Thank  _goodness_  for Gina's kitchen having a high ceiling, because otherwise, we'd have  _problems._ "

"Wait, he picked you up and just  _held_  you there?" Cisco demanded.

"Uhm, yes?"

"Triple threat," Cisco said solemnly. "He's a triple threat. Handsome, tall, athletic…how can I be him?"

"I know," Barry whispered.

"He's smart, too." Felicity closed her eyes as she heard herself speak. Her and her stupid mouth.

"He is?" Barry asked.

"Yeah, well, he seems intelligent when we talk. But he also knows five languages."

"What? What are they?" Caitlin finally sounded intrigued at the mention of Oliver being more than an attractive face. A little bit of intelligence always went far in Caitlin's book.

"English, of course, then Russian, Mandarin, Cantonese, and Japanese."

"Are you sure?" she asked, suspicion palpable over the phone. "He could have been playing himself up."

"No," Felicity said, recalling the hesitancy in his voice as he said it, his slight embarrassment and then stifled pride at her compliments. "I really don't think so. I mean, why lie? He already had the job, no need to impress me then."

"When'd he tell you this?"

"In the car, on the way down. That was really the only time I got to know him. After that, he was playing the part for everyone else."

"How did the rest of the night go? What was it like being around him?" Barry prompted.

"Oh, it was nice. He was very polite. Uhm…he and I cuddled…a lot?"

"Ah- _huh_ ," Cisco said, with that  _'is **that**  all?_' tone she loved when aimed at people that were not her.

"Yeah, well, we'd sit by each other, and he just…he was  _there,_ " Felicity explained defensively. "He was the world's muscle-y-est pillow."

"Little wonder you cuddled," Caitlin said dryly.

"Okay,  _look._  It wasn't  _weird_  or anything. Just…he'd have his arm around me, so I'd just sort of end up leaning in, and then…yeah."

"Right," Caitlin sniffed, a smile hiding in her voice. "It sounds kind of like you were taking advantage of him, Miss Smoak."

Felicity flashed back to when they had watched the movie and how he had stayed in virtually the same position while she essentially climbed into his lap. Oh geez, she was right.

"It wasn't  _conscious!_ " she blurted. "I mean, I wasn't  _trying_  anything, it just…happened!"

"Do you think you'll hire him again?"

"No? I mean, it was just for that pinch, I fully intend to 'end our relationship' and move on. How many fake boyfriend situations can I get into?"

"I don't know," Barry said, mockingly thoughtful. "Maybe you should keep him on retainer, just in case you don't feel like finding a date for parties or something."

"Maybe we could meet him!" Cisco agreed.

"Shut  _up,"_  Felicity laughed, even as her chest squeezed. That would be slightly great and awful at the same time.

"What's going to be  _really_  fun, though, is continuing to fake the relationship for my mom."

"Continuing?" Barry asked, the frown audible in his voice.

"Yeah, she's coming over on Sunday, flies back to Vegas Tuesday."

"So you've got to pretend to keep dating him."

"See, I knew there would be more complications," Caitlin said. Felicity rolled her eyes.

"I mean, it'll be  _fine,_  but I'm wary, you know?"

"We know," Barry said,  _almost_  without sarcasm. Felicity pursed her lips, recalling the pre-Thanksgiving meltdown of the day before.

" _Yeah._  So what if I slip up and have to cover and she gets suspicious?" Her mother already disliked Oliver as it was. Felicity didn't want to add fuel to that fire, if only for Oliver's fake reputation's sake.

"You'll be  _fine,"_  Barry promised, even as Cisco said, "Don't even worry about that."

Felicity stirred her coffee, smiling to herself and subtly wishing that her worries were really about continuing this big game of pretend and not the criticisms her mother would bring with her.

* * *

"It was nice seeing everyone," Gina said, then ate a bite of her pastrami sandwich.

Felicity had met her mother and aunt in a small sandwich shop a few blocks away from her house, and was looking forward to being able to talk without the fervor of everyone being there. She also was looking forward to Gina playing referee, just in case. Donna's words from Thanksgiving still stung.

"Did Jodie go back already?" Felicity asked. Gina nodded, widening her eyes in way of showing her relief as she swallowed.

" _Yes,_  thank goodness. She left with Gary's herd."

"But Wyatt and Siobhan are still there?"

"Mm-hm, they stay until after my birthday."

"I wish I could be there for it," Donna sighed, stirring her Italian soda. "But I could only get the weekend and everyone would be here over Thanksgiving, not Hanukkah…"

"Of course," Gina said, waving a hand. "We'll be sure to call you that morning, it'll be fine."

"I'm just impressed you're giving up your house for basically a month," Felicity said after a sip of hazelnut hot chocolate.

"Mm, me too," Gina sighed. "And even when everyone else packs up, the winter break will start and the kids will be at home for days…it's a lot."

"But the memories are worth it," Donna chirped, then ate a prim bite of her salad.

"Oh, I never really got to tell you," Gina said, waving a hand at Felicity. Felicity perked, curious at what she would say. "Oliver, I was so happy we got to meet him. He seems like a good guy. Michael would have loved him, had he been in town."

Felicity's smile felt frozen as she nodded at her aunt and became keenly aware of her mother. Donna smiled politely and dropped her eyes.

"Oh, yeah, well…I certainly like him," Felicity said, giving half a laugh. "Jodie seemed to really love him, too."

"Oh, no," Gina said, laying her hands on the table. "Don't tell me."

Felicity nodded, grimacing slightly. " _Yeah._  She pinched Oliver when she hugged him goodbye."

"Oh, geez, that woman," Gina sighed, while Donna snorted into her drink. "Last time she's coming over, I swear. I don't care  _what_  Gary says, that woman's not stirring the pot in my home. She  _pinched_  him?"

"Well, it could be worse," Donna sighed.

" _Ugh,_  I don't even want to think about that," Felicity said, giving an exaggerated shudder.

"Keep the boy, only if for his fortitude," Gina advised, giving a sage nod.

"I hope you two ladies don't mind, but I need to use the little ladies' room," Donna interrupted, shimmying out of her seat.

"No, no, enjoy yourself," Gina said, waving her away. Felicity held her breath as she watched her mother leave, not sure if she was being paranoid or if her mother had left before she could hear any more of Oliver's virtues.

Felicity picked at her cinnamon roll, wondering how the rest of her mother's visit would play out. It would probably be less stressful if Donna simply left every time Oliver was brought up, but also about a billion times more awkward.

" _So,"_  Gina began, leaning forward, "What's up with you and your mom?"

" _Oh,_ " Felicity said, panic freezing her brain. "Oh, uhm, I dunno, we just…I dunno."

Gina gave her a look.

"We…kind of had a fight," Felicity began. The words felt wrong on her tongue, strange and uncomfortable in a way her rambles never were.

"Over what?" she asked, voice gentle.

"Over…over Oliver," Felicity mumbled. She toyed with her to-go cup of hot chocolate, not wanting to meet her aunt's eyes.

"Oh no."

"She said she thought he'd hurt me," she told her cup. Felicity wasn't entirely sure why she was telling Gina all of this. She could have turned the conversation away, or bluntly refused to go on, but there was something steady in Gina's eyes that Felicity hadn't felt when she had spoken to her friends. Gina Lowe was a woman for a crisis, even if it was little and hinged on something more mortifying than devastating. "Something to the effect of boys like him don't date girls like me, so  _obviously_  he's got to like breaking people's hearts for us to end up together."

Felicity didn't mean for there to be such a bite to her words, but just remembering their argument made her mad. And scared her, because at the back of her head was the reminder—boys like Oliver  _didn't_  date girls like Felicity. They had to be paid first.

"Hon, I don't think she—"

"She said he was out of my league."

Gina was quiet for a moment. She wiped her hands off on a napkin, then looked Felicity in the eye.

"Felicity, I'm going to offer you some advice here, but this is ultimately between you and your mom. I can't speak for either one of you here. But, Felicity, you've got to understand Thanksgiving  _was_ a little odd, for everyone. We've never seen this man before and you didn't tell us much, so when he walked in…there were a lot of expectations and he wasn't like very many of them."

"But that doesn't mean she can just—"

"No, it doesn't. But it  _was_  kind of a tense situation. You're our little Fizzy, with your long ponytail and silly ear piercing," Gina said, reaching over to touch her shoulder. "In our heads, you're still a little girl, especially to Donna. But to see you in that dress, with an attractive guy on your arm—"

"I liked my dress," she said, frowning. "It was pretty."

"Yes. And I liked your boyfriend. He was a man."

Felicity sighed through her nose, thinking that it would take a damn miracle for her to figure her family out.

"So my mom freaked out because I seemed  _too grown up_?"

"A little. But you see what I'm saying, though?" Gina asked. "Donna hasn't seen you in almost a year and suddenly there you are, a woman like she's never seen. And now it's clicking that you'll have scary, grown up problems, like cheating boyfriends and assholes that just wanna make you go back on your good girl standards."

"It's not  _like_  that, though!"

"But it  _could_  be and  _that's_  what she's worried about."

"If that was all, I'd be okay. It was the fundamental 'there must be something wrong with this picture' that made me mad." That shocked her beyond belief. That made her want to cry. That reaffirmed all of the quiet little rustlings in her head.

"I know," Gina sighed. "And I can't tell you why she thinks that way. Like I said, you two gotta deal."

Felicity took a grumpy bite of cinnamon roll, mulling over Gina's words. It was entirely possible for Donna to have simply been over protective, but Gina hadn't grown up under Donna's influence. She didn't know what Donna saw in Felicity, every time she saw her with a few more geeky credentials and not enough glam or man in her life. Donna had meant exactly what she had said it was odd for Felicity and Oliver to have been together.

"But, like I said, I liked Oliver. He seems like a nice man. And…if you're interested, the house is still open for the holidays," Gina said.

"What, oh, no, Oliver and I, we don't—"

"Oh, hush. You two choose, like I said, but if you'd like a lower stress environment for people to get to know Oliver in, it's there. We'd all love to see him again."

"Do you….really think?"

"Yeah. If nothing else, stop by for some family and someone else having to cook."

Felicity nodded, chewing her cheek. For all of the stress involved, Felicity had enjoyed spending time with the sane members of her family. She couldn't remember that many people caring about her in a single room since…the last family reunion.

The thought made Felicity suddenly feel very lonely. She took a drink of hot chocolate, craving the warmth of curling up against someone's side, their arm around her shoulders, their thumb stroking slowly against her ribs. She hadn't wanted  _people_  that way in a long time, had been content to sit at home or at work or someplace with a computer and a nice drink and while away the hours. Solitude worked for her, IT was a solitary job, but now the thought of sitting by herself in her cubicle made Felicity feel empty.

Donna returned to the table, filling them in on the soap opera that had unfolded in the bathroom. Gina listened, but slid her attention back to Felicity when Donna was done. Her expression was painfully earnest, trying to get Felicity to believe what she was saying.

"I'm telling you, kid, if you want a winter weekend getaway, you've got a place. Though, if you two come, I absolutely assure you my kids are going to use Oliver as a jungle gym."

"I'm sure he won't mind," Felicity laughed, then felt herself catch. She didn't know that. She didn't know  _what_  he would feel at being dragged back into her family drama. She had just assumed he'd come, thinking of the two of them as a pair.

Felicity took another bite of cinnamon roll as the conversation moved on to other things.

* * *

Gina dropped them off at Felicity's door with a casual reminder to play nice. Felicity laughed as she waved her goodbye, but also wished her aunt wasn't quite so perceptive.

"Oh, I  _love_  the Christmas lights!" Donna squealed as they entered her apartment. "Very nice, mixing the purple and white together."

"I like it," Felicity said, still uncomfortable from the argument several days before. Her talk with Gina hadn't helped on this matter, but it  _had_  helped her to be more understanding. A little. Maybe. Not really. Unkind words like ' _out of your league_ ' and ' _break your heart'_  kept popping into her head to stem any mature thoughts of forgiveness.

"And you moved your furniture around! Really opened up the space."

"Yeah, I got Manuel, guy I work with, to help me. It took a little while, but I rewarded him with cookies." Even as she was speaking, Felicity mentally prepared herself for the deluge of ' _was he cute?', 'you work with him?', 'does he have a girlfriend?', 'would he be boyfriend material?'_  But it didn't come. Donna glanced at her carefully, like she was testing the water.

"Manuel? Didn't…didn't you ask Oliver to help?"

"What?" Felicity asked, blinking stupidly at her mother. "Oh, yeah, uhm, I did this before I really started to date him." All very true, but the heat of the lie made her stomach burn. And dread of yet  _another_  fight.

Donna nodded, probably biting back her thoughts, and examined the space again.

"Still, very cute. And your bedroom, how is it…oh, turquoise walls! I love it, it's adorable!"

"I'm glad you like it," Felicity said, breathing a sigh of relief, even as she felt a wiggle of pride at having pleased her mother.

Donna babbled on as Felicity took off her shoes and coat, talking about one of her coworkers, how she wished she could have gotten more time off, how she was still delighted to see everyone, how good Gina's haircut looked, what the dry Vegas air was doing to her hands. Idle, unimportant things. Not Oliver things. Felicity let out a breath.

She let things be for another day. Donna insisted on going window shopping, cooing over every cute dress and pair of heels they found, and providing tactless and wickedly amusing commentary on the people around them. It was tiring as always, keeping up with her mother's rapid and foreign thought process, but it wasn't unpleasant. They both must have been keenly aware of the tension between them, though, because all of the conversation felt just on the wrong side of stilted. And, Felicity noticed, Donna refrained from pointing out boys' cute butts whenever they passed.

Then, on Monday evening, Felicity broke the silence. Cup of tea in hand and her favorite pair of socks on foot, Felicity eyed her mother from across the room.

"You haven't mentioned Oliver."

"Yes, well, things had been going so well," Donna said, shifting her mug's position on the coffee table.

"But this is something we should definitely talk about." Now, when she was calm and prepared.

Dona glanced up at where Felicity was sitting at the counter, then looked back at her mug.

"Have you…talked to him? Since we spoke?"

"Not about this, no."

Donna nodded, still refusing to meet her eye. Felicity continued, hoping her mother would latch onto something she could respond to.

"I thought it was a good idea to get  _this_  sorted out, first."

"I never meant to upset you," Donna said abruptly. When she looked up at Felicity, her eyes were big and worried and so,  _so_  honest. Felicity bit back words of  _'well, you did'_ and held her mug a little tighter. "I swear Felicity, I'm sorry. I never meant to make you think you don't deserve him, he's…he just made me nervous."

"Did Oliver  _do_  or  _say_  something to make you feel weird?" Felicity asked, a little resentful and maybe a smidge concerned. Gina potentially had a point that Donna may have been spooked by Felicity's sudden maturity,  _but_ Oliver was still a hired escort. No matter how careful and polite he had been with her, she still didn't  _know_  him. He hadn't let her know him.

"No," Donna sighed, shaking her head. "It's just...I saw you two walk in, and there's you, my little girl, and there's this boy… _man,_  and he's—he's so unlike anyone you've ever dated." Felicity let herself a moment of annoyance and awe at Gina's occult powers of observation, then made herself focus on what her mother was saying. "And you're not the type for trophy boys, someone to look pretty as you talk to people, but he's just…everything seemed so  _polished,_  every word he said seemed fixed and perfect. I don't think I heard him misspeak once."

"He's eloquent," Felicity said. There was a strain of defensiveness in her voice that hadn't been there where Caitlin had questioned her, but there wasn't the hesitation, either. For some reason, Felicity felt the defiant need to justify Oliver to her mother, as though he really was her boyfriend. "Oliver says exactly what he means, the exact way he means it. That's not ground for assuming—"

"No, more than that," Donna said, waving her hands in the air. "Everything just…it felt  _fake_ , like he was playing a game. And I thought…well, what if it  _was_  a game to him? And the more I thought, the more it seemed—he kept touching you, nothing big, but it seemed so  _possessive_ , and—Felicity, I'm sorry for insulting you both."

Felicity nodded, taking her time to make sure her words were right.

"The thing that made me upset, Mom, was that you seemed  _surprised_  he was with me. And I get that's it's unusual, that he's not my normal type, that I seemed a bit  _grown up_ on Thursday, that you're looking out for me. I get all of that and I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I would prefer you to be  _happy_  for me until something  _proves_  your suspicions right." Felicity clenched her teeth after her speech, feeling so  _resentful_  of being in this situation, the big, confident part of her jumping onto the counter and shouting that she could date whoever the hell she wanted!, while the smaller, uglier part of her shifted uncomfortably at the truth.

"But that could be  _too late._  I don't want—"

"You said he was out of my league," Felicity said coldly. That phrase still cut her down to her bones. Donna dropped her eyes at the words.

"I shouldn't have said that."

"Is that what you think, though?" Felicity asked, setting her mug down on the counter. "The problem isn't just with how you view Oliver, Mom. It's about how you view me. Is it so  _impossible_  for me to come home with a boy like him?"

"I don't know," she said softly. "I always want you to have the best, but…it's not often you see people like the two you together. Oliver just…felt wrong. And I know, honey, that you're smart and pretty and kind, but I also know you're too good to be worried about the bad men I am. I don't want you to be broadsided by this sort of hurt."

Felicity watched her mother for a moment, trying to remember the last time she'd heard that many compliments come out of her mother's mouth.

"…Thank you for the apology," Felicity said, standing up from the stool and walking over to the couch. Her mother didn't look ready to cry, but she was worried and embarrassed and so very  _sorry._  Felicity held her arms out to her mother, who stood up and grabbed Felicity into a hug.

"I've missed you, honey," Donna whispered into her hair, and Felicity closed her eyes as the jagged resentment in her chest broke into a few soft tears. She loved her mother, was glad that they had discussed this like adults, but Felicity also had the distinct impression that Donna hadn't quite gotten the second part of her message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I can express the importance of Felicity's insecurities enough. This...this is just really vital to my existence. If there's one thing I want people to take away from this story, it's that amazing people have problems and flaws that they have to deal with, and sometimes they keep the person from realizing how amazing they actually are.


	7. denial is a heady beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, here we are, another chapter! I know I've been really lame and haven't responded to ANYONE'S comments, but I've been crazy busy. I will answer them all soon. And, expect more updates more often now that I'm on break!
> 
> Thank you as always to my darling betas and all of you who read this!

Oliver was fairly good at predicting things, but it came as a surprise to hear Felicity's voice tumbling from his phone less than a week after Thanksgiving.

"Felicity?"

"Oliver! Yeah, hi, I just—I hope this isn't tacky, I was just wondering if you'd be interested in another job. Oh, geez, that sounds horrible, both out loud and in my head. I'm sorry. You know what I mean. But sorry."

"It's not tacky," he chuckled, pausing at the edge of the sidewalk until he could cross the street.

The two of them had exchanged numbers as part of their arrangement for Thanksgiving, but he had never entered her as a contact. It had been more of a precaution than anything; Oliver had never expected her to make their arrangement more than one time thing. Apparently, he was wrong.

"Okay, thank goodness. But…how about the job? Or, well, actually, jobs."

"Jobs?"

"Yes, I was curious if you'd be willing to come out with me two more times. Potentially more. I'm not sure."

"Is it the same thing as before?"

"Yeah. Make fun of me all you want, after complaining about how terrible my family is nonstop, but over the weekend I realized that I actually really like them and now that the super crazy members are gone I want to spend a lot more time with them. And I was just wondering if, you know, you would be willing to come along. Like, you don't have to, obviously, but the winter holidays are pretty important to my family so they want to see me a ton and if you'd be willing to give up the time…I'd be willing to hire you."

Oliver blinked as he tried to process her words. Underneath the onslaught of flustered babbling, he thought he heard an edge of defensiveness. But then it was tugged away as she kept talking, moving from her family and onto him.

"Two more? What days?" Oliver's tone was his typical professional air when talking about business details, but he couldn't fight the smile that stretched across his face. Didn't want to, really.

"Let's see, my aunt's birthday is the third, and then the Friday during Hanukkah is on the…twelfth? Yeah, twelfth. Christmas is all yours and New Year's…I dunno, I think we'll play that one by ear. Tentative reservation, if that's okay with you. But I think it's a bit much of me in one month, so…" She trailed off, sounding like she was _trying_ to laugh at herself, but just barely missed the mark.

Oliver turned the corner onto the road heading to his gym and let himself rest in the memory of her voice for a moment before speaking.

"So three days at most? And that's about a week and a half apart. Would they be for as long as before, just for the evening?"

"For Gina's birthday, yeah, but Hanukkah I normally spend the night, so that'd be more of a full day thing. I don't think I'd end up taking your whole weekend, though."

Oliver tilted his head, considering the cost. Roughly two days with Felicity and her quirky family. He had definitely had worse jobs and he liked her. It couldn't hurt to give her a bargain.

"Since you're planning this out all at once, I'll give you a deal."

"You'll do it? Oh, thank you! Wait—deal?"

"Yes," Oliver said, once again smiling at her enthusiasm. "Figuring three nights, counting Thanksgiving but not New Year's, let's cut…two hundred off the end price."

"And if we _do_ do New Years?"

"Two fifty."

"Boy am I glad you're not one of those by the hour deals," Felicity sighed. Oliver's stomach twisted ever so slightly. That kicked a little too close to ' _prostitute'_ for his liking. But then Felicity was talking again, dragging his attention back. "But, yeah, okay, thank you! That's…really nice of you."

"Just trying to keep a customer happy."

"Right, okay, yeah. So, meet up again at the café, say…two-ish for Gina's party?"

"I can do that," Oliver said, pausing outside of his gym.

"And then we can discuss Hanukkah…later, I guess? Yeah, in the car or something, whatever happens."

"Do I need to bring anything for her birthday?"

"For Gina? Nope, the only gift is yourself. But it's not like I'm giving you to her! I mean, sharing is caring and all, but not with human beings and—plus you're pretending to be my boyfriend, can't very well give you to my aunt—okay, Oliver, please just hang up because I can't stop and I don't feel like mortifying myself further."

Oliver scoffed out a laugh and said, "Good-bye, Felicity. I'll see you at the café at two."

"Okay, thank you, bye. Have a good day!"

He blinked in surprise and heard himself say, "You too," before the thought had processed. He hung up and walked into the gym. He entered Felicity into his contacts, then turned his attention to checking in.

Diggle was already warming up with a jump rope when Oliver returned from the locker room. He stopped jumping as Oliver approached.

"Hey man," he said, catching Oliver's hand and pulling him into a brief, one armed hug.

"Hey. How's Lyla?"

"Good. Found a new tv show— _Property Brothers._ "

"Does that mean she's looking for a place that actually has a yard?"

"Thankfully, no," Diggle said, hanging the jump rope on a rack. "But she _is_ redesigning her living room. And she gave me a garden."

"You live on the fifth floor."

"They're all potted," he explained, giving a good natured eye roll. "Lots of succulents. Hen and chicks are her favorite."

Oliver snorted and picked up a medicine ball. He headed to the decline bench and locked his feet against the bar. Diggle took up his position at the foot of the bench, waiting for Oliver to sit up and toss him the ball.

Diggle regaled Oliver with tales of Lyla redecorating ("' _I'm painting the ceiling John, now help me pick out paint swatches'._ The hell do I know about _paint swatches_?") while Oliver did sit ups. He stopped after two sets of twenty and switched places with Diggle.

"So," Diggle said, hooking his feet under the bar, "you never told me how Thanksgiving went."

"Yes, I did."

"A grunt isn't speech, Oliver."

Oliver threw the medicine ball at his chest, giving an innocent when Diggle glared at him in response.

"Seriously, though," Diggle said a little later. He handed Oliver a set of weights and an expectant look. "Thanksgiving."

"It was…good," he hedged, thinking about Felicity's boisterous family and how Felicity had been slow to relax around them. She hadn't really taken herself off high alert until they started watching the movie. She had melted against him in the dark, gradually settling in.

"Oliver. You're killing me."

"There's not much to tell."

"Funny motor mouth with a crazy family? Yeah, _nothing,"_ Diggle said. One of these days his eyes were going to roll out of his head and Oliver had zero intentions of helping him find them again.

"She's…not a _motor mouth,_ " he said with a grimace. "She…just talks a lot. It's more like babbling."

"Babbling? That's a new one," Diggle noted, raising an eyebrow.

"She thinks and speaks faster than she can process. Sometimes common sense can't keep up."

"And you sat in a car with her for nearly two hours? I'd pay money to watch that."

"She's normally fine. Definitely better than most of the drunk women I deal with."

"Girl who wanted to do shots off your abs will always be my favorite," Diggle said blandly, earning his own dirty look.

Diggle let the subject rest for a few minutes as they went through their workout routine, running in place, pop ups, pushups, wash, rinse, repeat. On their water break, however, he brought it up again.

"Honestly, though, I'm surprised you took a job on the holiday."

"If we'd been going to a party I would have said no," Oliver admitted.

He typically avoided jobs on the holidays. Excepting Valentine's Day and New Year's, Oliver was very comfortable not selling himself on major holidays. This had been prompted by the last job he had taken on Christmas. A woman had hired him to go cheer up a friend after a bad break up. He hadn't enjoyed doing the walk of shame while listening to music about love and the salvation of mankind.

"But instead the night with her was good old, meet-the-family crazy?"

"Yes," he said, recalling Jodie's antics and Donna's false verve and Felicity sitting so, so straight next to him. "I actually agreed to do two more holidays with her."

"You what?" Diggle straightened, frowning. Oliver set down his water bottle and shrugged.

"She's nice."

"Yeah, but Oliver, that's…don't you like keeping that as you time?"

"I'm really not doing much. She's paying me to be me."

Diggle gave him a look that was less amused than Oliver would have liked. Maybe he had heard something defensive in the way Oliver repeated Felicity's words. After all, Oliver himself had scoffed at the notion of being himself.

"So, what, you're okay with giving up Christmas and New Year's or something?" Diggle pursed his lips and got that serious look Oliver hated for its sincerity. "…Are you really that hard up for cash?"

"This isn't about money," Oliver said pointedly.

"It isn't?" Diggle said, repeating Oliver in that tone he had mastered, halfway between a question and _I'm-saying-this-again-so-you-can-hear-what-it-is-you-just-let-out-of-your-mouth._

" _No._ And it's not _really_ on holidays," Oliver said, annoyed that he had allowed himself to be caught in Felicity's terminology. "It's for her aunt's birthday and then Hanukkah."

"Hanukkah? She's buying all eight days of _Hanukkah?"_

"No, just two."

"Huh." Diggle watched him, still wearing that serious look.

"I'll still come over for Christmas. If that's okay."

"Hm? No…yeah, that's fine, we'd love to have you." Still Diggle watched him, almost suspicious.

"She's hiring you to go with her to her aunt's birthday?" he asked after Oliver had done several repetitions of the next exercise.

"She likes—her family," he said, words clipped as he did another pushup. He focused on his form and not the way Felicity had stalked back into the parlor after helping her mother clean up the kitchen. She had hugged him so tight it had almost hurt, as if she could press the unhappiness out of her.

"I like my family, but _really?_ Why're you doing this?" Diggle asked as Oliver stood up, finished with the set. Oliver gave him a look that said he had thirty seconds of rest and wasn't about to waste it on the current conversation.

"Seriously, though, crazy families are…not you. First time I got you to have dinner with me, Lyla, Carly, and AJ, I almost had to bind and gag you. And _that_ was a plain old barbeque."

"It's _different,_ " Oliver insisted, thinking for some reason of his frantic retreat into Gina's bathroom the week before. He shook the thought from his head and handed the weights off to Diggle.

"How's that?"

"It just is," he grit out.

Diggle gave him a look that said ' _okay…'_ , then finally let the subject drop.

* * *

Oliver glanced back over his letter to Thea, making sure that he wasn't missing any pages. His handwriting looked strange and blocky compared to the cute, loopy script of his sister.

Thea had initially rebelled at the idea of writing letters to him, and her first letters had been full of hearty complains and criticisms. They had renewed when he included pictures of the places he visited ( _you actually had film developed, Ollie?),_ but Oliver hadn't missed the increasing number of Polaroids included in her letters from then on.

Oliver folded the three handwritten pages into the envelope, quickly sealing away the tales of the people and places he'd seen, recommendations of a new brand of soda, and responses to questions she'd asked. And, of course, the silent dismissal of her quiet question— _since you're living in Starling, are you going to stop by and say hello?_ Oliver had had to set her letter down for a while after first reading the question.

Lately, his promises of affection had felt increasingly false. He hadn't seen Thea or his mother in five years and Oliver was beginning to wonder if he could keep claiming to love people who were turning into something alarmingly like strangers. Photographs, post cards, and lengthy letters just weren't the same as actually seeing his family, seeing the way their faces had changed over time, feeling the way they fit against his chest in a hug. But then the bitter thought of going back made his stomach flip and he kept his feet turned away from the Queen Mansion.

Oliver quickly put an address on the envelope and left his apartment. He dropped the letter into a mailbox on the street as he passed, then settled into his coat.

Starling was still refusing to give into the season and let it snow, but it compensated with a wet, chilly wind. The streets had frozen the night before, but had largely melted by midmorning. At least that way Felicity didn't have to worry about black ice as she drove.

He walked to the bus stop and waited quietly for it to come. He considered pulling out his phone—he hadn't talked to Tommy in a couple of weeks—but kept his hands in his pockets. Oliver watched his city wander around him, the sky scrapers gleaming cold in the early afternoon sunlight, the grittier factories huffing out steam, the businessmen and cashiers and housewives and teens and nannies and homeless all moving on their own time. Titles didn't matter in the throng, money and connections were left behind with the exhaust and gum and garbage on the sidewalk. He had missed Starling.

The bus pulled up and Oliver quickly climbed on. He settled into a seat next to the window, waiting for his stop to eventually arrive.

The wind had increased by the time he got off, making the couple of blocks' walk to the café a long one. He stretched out his stride and was there within a few minutes. He glanced around, not seeing Felicity or her little red car. He frowned and resisted the sugary warm welcome of the café behind him. He leaned against the window, eyes flicking over the passersby.

Oliver mentally prepared himself for the evening ahead as his face became colder and colder in the wind. Felicity had promised that things would be calmer this time around, now that there were fewer people and expectations to entertain.

"Oliver!"

He looked around and saw Felicity poking her head out of her car window. He smiled, walked around to the passenger side, and climbed in.

"Geez, it's freezing out there," Felicity said, rolling up her window. "Do you need me to turn up the heater, or…?"

"No, I'm fine," he said. Oliver slipped out of his coat and buckled up.

"So, how's your day been?" Felicity asked, pulling into traffic. Oliver shrugged, thinking.

"Not bad. And yourself?"

" _Hectic,_ " Felicity sighed. "Things have been going wrong at work the _whole week_."

"Was it anything serious?"

"No, just…dumb stuff. You know, things that I'm _technically_ supposed to take care of, but that people can fix for themselves if they have, I don't know, common sense."

"Well, I'm glad you're getting a break."

" _Yeah,"_ Felicity sighed, forcibly unclenching her hands from the steering wheel. "No stress, just Gina's birthday, just gonna relax. I'm actually really looking forward to this."

Oliver glanced at her. She was carefully put together as always, with her full skirted navy dress, white cardigan, cute knee high boots, and ponytail smoothed to perfection. She wasn't dressed like she expected to relax.

"But how was your week?" Felicity asked, glancing at him as she took the highway exit.

"Not bad. Saw friends, worked out…" Felicity raised her eyebrows in a knowing smile.

"Worked out, I noticed." Then she froze, expression changing to anxiety. "Is that rude? I mean, are you okay with comments on your body? Like, you know you're attractive, obviously that's kind of your selling point— _ack_ , I just reduced you to a piece of trade again, I'm really sorry I just can't freaking talk like a normal human being."

Oliver huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

"Felicity," he began, sparing her the further awkwardness of silence, "it's _okay_ to talk about the way I look."

"Yeah, I just—I don't want to give the impression that I'm basing my impression of you entirely off of your looks."

Oliver surveyed her for a long moment. She was staring studiously at the road, frowning slightly from the concentration required to seem casual.

"I don't think that's a danger," he told her, and barely, just barely, he saw her shoulders relax.

" _Does_ it offend you when people do that, though? When they see you as…?"

"An escort?" he asked bluntly, and Felicity flinched out a look at him. She grimaced like he had just cursed in a church ( _synagogue,_ he reminded himself), but didn't comment. Oliver considered the road through his window, selecting his words.

"I don't mind when people value me only for my work. I have issue when they don't respect me for it."

Felicity looked at him again, a more fragile expression on her face. It wasn't pitying, thank heaven, but it was almost…sad.

"I can understand that," she said, and turned her attention back to the road.

They were quiet for a while, Felicity humming absently with the radio. Oliver watched the houses and fields pass by, wondering when the gloomy sky would finally give up snow. He yawned and settled into his seat.

"Oh no, now you've—now you've—" Felicity broke off into a huge yawn, which was barely contained by her hand. " _Thanks,_ now I'm going to be yawning all afternoon."

"From one yawn?"

"I had a late night," she admitted. "My book was too frakking good to put down. And, after the week I've had, I needed some me time."

Oliver smiled at the thought of Felicity curled up in her bed, a book inches from her nose as the clock ticked later and later. Thea had done the same thing when she was younger. It wasn't often, but when she found a series she liked she could not put it down.

"So, what's your excuse?" Felicity asked.

"Hm?"

"For the yawn. Any great novels I should know about?"

"No," he said, the typical, suitably vague response falling form his lips. "It was work."

"Oh," Felicity said, giving a mild nod. Then, " _Oh._ "

Oliver blinked. She actually knew what his work _was._ Felicity stole a glance at him, slightly embarrassed.

"Was it a dinner date, or—? You know, never mind, literally not my business."

He smiled slightly, thankful she had not pushed. It hadn't been a dinner date.

"So, that book, what was it about?" he asked, cutting through the uncomfortable haze around her.

Felicity gave a slight groan, but broke into a smile.

"Judge me not, but it's one of those trashy werewolf romances."

"Trashy werewolf…what?"

"Romances. They're my vice."

Felicity began explaining just what constituted the genre, why they were that much better than 'cheap unhealthy vampire dramas', and what she liked about her story in particular. He watched her elaborate and fall into side tangents, smiling slightly as she expounded on his questions and her preferences. Felicity talked with her hands, sometimes holding the wheel steady with her elbows as she gestured and used different voices to explain the story.

Despite her energy, though, the two of them were undeniably yawning every few minutes until they arrived at Gina's house. Felicity leaned against her car after getting out, waiting for a particularly large yawn to pass. Oliver waited for her, then they walked up to the front door together.

"Hi!" Gina said as she opened the door. She gave them both hugs after ushering them out of the cold. "The kids aren't home from school yet, but Michael's going to go pick them up soon."

"Michael?" Oliver asked, not recalling the name from the week before.

"My husband," Gina explained with a smile.

"Oh, did I not tell you about him?" Felicity asked, eyes widening with surprise. "Gosh, sorry about that. He's a photojournalist. Where was he for Thanksgiving, Gina?"

"Labrador."

Oliver nodded. The precise quality of the photos in the hall made a bit more sense, now.

"I hope you're saying good things about me," a man called, then appeared in the hallway. He was short and had a close cropped beard, and his handshake was firm when he greeted Oliver.

"Welcome to my home. Again," he tacked on. "Hopefully everything was good to you during Thanksgiving."

"Very good. You have a beautiful home and a wonderful family."

"Thanks. I think so, at least," he beamed, wrapping an arm around Gina.

Wyatt and Siobhan appeared from different directions of the house, each equally welcoming as Gina had been. They stood in the entryway for a moment before Gina clapped her hands.

"Oh, gosh, you guys haven't even taken your coats off, yet. Please," she said, gesturing at the coat rack and line of discarded shoes.

"Here's your present, by the way," Felicity said, holding out her gift bag as she leaned against Oliver to take off her boots.

"Better give that to me," Michael said, quickly intercepting it. "She's _horrible_ at ruining surprises," he stage whispered to Oliver. Gina rolled her eyes as he disappeared back down the hallway.

They hung their coats on the rack as Felicity reported how the weather had held up on the drive.

"Weather man's been promising chances of snow since last week," Siobhan noted as they moved deeper into the house. Wyatt scrunched up his nose.

"They're taunting us with worry about bad roads and no school, that's all. _Sadists."_

"What's wrong with no school?" Felicity asked. "I mean, I loved learning, but going to school in the winter is the _worst."_

"Felicity, _children,"_ Wyatt said as if that was explanation enough, then snickered as Siobhan smacked his shoulder.

"Do you guys want anything to drink?" Gina asked. They were settled in the back parlor, and Michael had rejoined them.

"Oh, I'd like some tea," Felicity said. "Red vanilla, if you have it."

"Water's fine," Oliver said.

"Is there more of that lemonade?" Wyatt asked, eyes brightening.

"Sure is," Gina said, making to stand up. Immediately Michael waved her back down.

" _Stop_ it Gina, I'm not letting you work on your birthday. Oliver," Michael said, catching him by surprise, "why don't you come help me? Haven't had a chance to talk with you, yet."

"Sure," he said, pushing himself up from the couch. He couldn't help but glance at Felicity, who flashed him a smile.

Oliver pulled down glasses from the cabinet Michael directed him to, waiting for Michael to start talking. Oliver supposed he wanted to learn a little bit more about Felicity's 'boyfriend', but he was unlike the rest of the Lowe family in that he didn't charge into the conversation. He gave some idle conversation as he filled Wyatt and Siobhan's cups with lemonade, tone easy enough.

"How're you liking it so far?" he asked after a brief pause. Oliver looked away from where he was filling his cup with water from the fridge, frowning.

"Liking what?"

"The Lowes," Michael said with a conspiratorial smile. "We're kind of a crazy bunch."

"It's not bad," Oliver said, and took a sip from his glass.

"How was Thanksgiving, though? Jodie and Gary and Donna all in one house…it's a lot to take in."

"I've seen worse," Oliver smiled. Him and Tommy club hopping until they couldn't see straight with a myriad of nameless, faceless women came to mind. Most of his early twenties came to mind, actually.

Michael laughed as he pulled out a box of tea from an upper cabinet. The microwave hummed as it warmed a mug of water, a strangely soothing background noise.

"Felicity's been nervous about bringing you to meet the family," Michael said, catching Oliver by surprise. "We're…not the perfect picture, I'm afraid."

"I wasn't expecting you to be."

Michael laughed and gave a nod, a little more serious this time.

"No, I doubt anyone expects a family to be. But we…we have a lot of expectations for her. She's the dark horse, the wild card. Lowes normally go into smaller jobs. I'm kind of an exception, photojournalism and all that, but Wyatt works at a small winery, Donna's a cocktail waitress, Gary builds houses. Simple stuff. But Felicity…she's _smart,_ talented in ways we could never dream. Graduated MIT at _nineteen,_ did she tell you that? Then she was snapped up by the IT department at Queen Consolidated."

Oliver blinked as Michael went on to say how Felicity was moving up fast, a strange little star in the Lowe universe.

Queen Consolidated. _Queen Consolidated?_ Felicity worked at Queen Consolidated. His family's company. He almost laughed at the wicked irony of it. Felicity, his employer, was technically his employee. Hell, his life was messed up.

"—I know it must be tough," Michael continued, fishing the mug of hot water from the microwave and putting a teabag into it. The warm smell of tea filled the air like a hug. "All those eyes watching her, she's gotta feel some stress."

Oliver looked down at his glass of water, recalling Felicity's side of this exact topic, how she had felt analyzed and put upon, forced into a picture of happiness that did not quite fit. He frowned, wishing she could hear the warm pride in Michael's voice when he spoke about her.

"And so, bringing you home…" Michael paused, then looked up at Oliver. "She was probably worried about how it might all look, from both your side and ours."

Oliver met Michael's gaze, expression serious.

"She is everything I thought she was and more. She's smart, yes, but she's also honest, and kind, and…Felicity is an amazing person."

Michael broke into a soft, wide smile, nodding at Oliver.

"I'm glad you realize it," he said gently. "I hope for your sake you get to hold onto her."

Michael picked up the array of drinks and set them on a wooden tray, then waved Oliver back through the saloon doors.

"C'mon, Oliver, we have drinks to deliver!"

Oliver followed Michael back into the parlor. Michael handed out everyone's drinks while Oliver sat beside Felicity. He listened to the conversation, hand held loosely in Felicity's. After a while she cupped her hands around the mug and held it close to her chest, as if trying to absorb every bit of its warmth. His hand was left alone on her knee, despite her no leg touching policy. She didn't seem to mind.

"Okay, that's it," Gina said abruptly, pointing a mock-serious finger at Felicity. "That's the third time you've yawned in the last five minutes, missy, and your boyfriend's not much better."

"What? No, I just—late night with a book," Felicity explained. "Oliver and I, we—we're just a little tired, is all."

"I got home late from work," he said smoothly, surprised Felicity had mentioned him.

"Geez, what kind of temp work's _that_?" Siobhan asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Well, if you two are tired, you can take a nap," Gina offered, gesturing vaguely upstairs. "Kids aren't home until later, might as well make use of the quiet."

"Oh, no, we can't do that," Felicity protested, glancing at Oliver.

"Thank you, but we're here for your birthday," he said, shaking his head.

"Seriously, come on, no point in being zombies when we cut the cake."

"Aunt Gina—"

"Nope! I decree as the birthday girl, you take care of you _first._ Come on," she said, waving at them as she stood up and walked out of the room.

"I can't stop her on this one," Michael said, shrugging in pseudo apology. Felicity laughed and set her mug down on the coffee table, then eased out of her seat.

Felicity and Oliver followed Gina out of the parlor to where she was waiting in the entryway.

"Wyatt and Siobhan have the guest room downstairs," she explained, starting up the staircase. "But, upstairs should be fine. Do you mind sharing a bed?" she asked, glancing back at them. "The couches are perfectly comfortable, but I always prefer a bed."

"Uhm, nope?" Felicity said.

"Oh, good. Here," Gina said, reaching the landing. She pointed down the end of the hallway as Oliver and Felicity climbed up beside her.

The room was pleasant, with soft green walls and floral curtains. The bed was a queen and had a neat grey and white bedspread.

"Here, let's pull these," she said, drawing white blackout curtains from under their decorative counterparts. The room darkened with each one lowered, though Gina allowed a crack in each to prevent the room from becoming too dark. "Blankets and pillows are in the closet, if you need them. And I'll tell the kids to be quiet when they get home."

"Thank you, Aunt Gina," Felicity said, smiling at her as she left the room. Felicity turned back to the bed, the smile lingering on her face. It was more of a ghost than an actual expression of happiness.

Oliver watched her a moment, considering her response on the staircase. She had told Gina it would be fine if they shared a bed, and her voice had even held a mild question as to why it might be otherwise, but he wasn't convinced. Felicity became distinctly uncomfortable when anything physical came up between them, always going stiff after realizing just how much she leaned into him when they sat together. He didn't want to push her.

"How do you want to do this?" Oliver asked. Felicity looked up at him, sucking in a breath as though he had surprised her.

"What? Oh—wait, no, what?" She faced him, hand pressed against her stomach. "Take a nap? I don't know, uhm, lay down and close my eyes…?"

"The bed," he clarified, pushing back a smile at her flustered response. "If you want it, I can sleep on the floor."

" _What?_ That's ridiculous, why not just offer to shoot a web into the corner and go sleep on that?"

Oliver cast her a strange look, making Felicity sigh and wave her words away.

"Never mind, dumb comic book reference. Seriously, though, I'm not going to make you sleep on the _floor._ "

"You're really comfortable sharing a bed? If not, that's okay."

Felicity blinked, like she was only now realizing the logistics of sharing a bed. A slight frown crunched her expression.

"No, that's okay," she said slowly, glancing back at the bed. "I mean, there's plenty of room, and…no, it's okay."

Oliver nodded and moved closer to the bed.

"Do you, uhm, do you want a blanket?" Felicity asked, gesturing at the closet.

"No, I'm fine," he said, shaking his head. Felicity nodded and grabbed an afghan from the closet shelf.

"I like the weight," she explained, a tinge of self-consciousness in her voice. Felicity stood next to the bed a moment, holding the afghan to her chest. Oliver watched her, then sat down on the bed.

"So, what's your policy on clinging?" Felicity asked, trying to keep a smile from her face and failing. Oliver raised his eyebrows, a little surprised that she had remembered the slip up he had made in the café. He shook his head, offering a slight smile.

"I don't mind cuddling."

" _Oh good,_ " she sighed, looking relieved. "I mean, I kind of a grabby person in my sleep. If I get accidentally handsy, just…push me away or something." She sat down as she spoke then hesitated like she was mapping out her next move. Felicity spread the blanket across her lap, adjusted her pillow, then glanced at him.

"I feel like I should say goodnight, or something," she laughed, then bit her lip. Oliver was about to propose the floor again when she purposefully flopped back into the pillows. He watched as she remembered her glasses and carefully set them on the nightstand.

Oliver laid down, letting his body relax into the bed. He had slept on a lot of beds over the last few years, foam pads that molded against his back, thin college mattresses that left him sore and aching, his own futon, comforting in its honest familiarity. He looked at the ceiling and listened to Felicity's careful breathing, the soft sound of her just barely moving, afraid to touch him.

"Bet you never thought you'd be paid to take a nap," Felicity said jokingly. Oliver smiled and glanced at her. She looked different without her glasses, her face seeming empty without the bold frames. The bar in her ear glinted in the dull light.

"Never thought I'd be paid to do a lot of things," he said mildly. Felicity was quiet for a moment and he thought that maybe she was too embarrassed to speak. Then she looked at him, expression serious. She didn't say anything, just examined him. Oliver watched her eyes wander his face, carefully taking in his features. Felicity rolled onto her side, facing him completely.

"If you could do _anything,_ no restrictions, go anywhere, see anything, whatever, what would you do?"

Oliver frowned, considering. His mind stuttered for a few moments, he didn't know, _anything_ in the world?, he didn't _know,_ then _see my family, stop being Oliver Queen, or maybe—_

"Travel Asia," he said softly. Felicity broke into a smile and looked down at the pillows.

"Do something with all that Chinatown culture you picked up," she laughed. It was a sweet sound.

"What about you?" he asked, curious about the parts of her that hadn't been in the folder.

He almost frowned at the thought. What _did_ he know, outside of the clinical framework she had given him in the café and the charming personality that bled through in their conversations?

Not much, or at least, not as much as he now realized he wanted. Felicity had given him a few broad brushstrokes who she was, the rough outline and foundation, but her character was mostly made of little details he had picked up. He knew the way she smoothed down her skirt when trying to conceal her annoyance and how she raised her eyebrows when listening to someone, but he didn't know why she had placed so much distance between her and her family. He didn't know why that flat, self-deprecating tone came into her voice sometimes.

Felicity let out a long sigh through her nose, considering.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I'm pretty happy with the way things are."

"There's _nothing_ else you want to do?"

"Well, nothing _practical._ As much as I'd love to be fed chocolate covered strawberries by Chris Pine, I'm not about to waste a 'do anything' wish on it."

Felicity hummed, thinking over her answer, then slowly said, "I…want to travel. Like you, I guess. I want to travel a continent, free form. Like, I have a set amount of money and then I just drive across North America with a friend, going to whatever sights we wanted, or, I dunno, backpack across Europe."

"You could do it," Oliver said absently. She looked up at him, surprised. "It's not very hard, if you have the right mindset. You wouldn't have any trouble doing it."

"Yeah, but, you know, work and stuff," she said hurriedly, shrugging her shoulders. "That's why it's in the 'anything wishlist'. Maybe we'll win some crazy raffle and be able to travel our own continents, no strings attached."

Oliver smiled at the thought and looked back at the ceiling.

"That sounds very nice," he murmured, and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rom cominess intensifies*


	8. but recognition is a scary one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All good things to those who wait. LIKE TWO NEW CHAPTERS.

Felicity woke up to the sensation of a very cold back. She looked around, blinking dully as she tried to fix the problem. Her cardigan had fallen to the side, revealing the large, diamond shaped cut out in the back of her dress. She dragged in a breath and fumbled to pull the cardigan back up (as cute as that dress was, that much skin was _definitely_ not family reunion attire), then noticed a hand was in the way.

She blinked, struggling to make sense of why her hand was refusing to move from her side. Then Felicity realized that it was not, in fact, her hand, but Oliver's. He had thrown his hand back in sleep to where it now rested on her hip. She, in turn, seemed to have shimmied closer so that her front was pressed against his back.

Felicity rectified the cold back situation and returned to facing Oliver's shoulder blades. She closed her eyes, settling into the warmth of his body. She tried nestling her hand back by her face, but for the life of her, Felicity couldn't get comfortable. She cracked open an eye, examining the way Oliver was laying down, then slipped her arm in the slight gap underneath his. She closed her eyes as her hand settled on his ribs, satisfied with her new position. Felicity dragged in a few slow breaths, letting the muted, cool smell of Oliver wash over her. It was the welcoming scent of fabric softener and something else, something almost spicy in its freshness. Felicity nuzzled closer, liking the softness of his shirt against her face.

Felicity dozed, wandering in and out of sleep. Half-hearted thoughts of checking the clock came to mind, but she was comfortable and warm against Oliver's back. Her legs were pressed against his and the idle entertainment of running her toes along the hem of his pants was captivating, feeling each edge of the fabric through her thick tights bringing its own kind of trance.

Oliver shifted and Felicity didn't think anything of it until he carefully picked up her hand. She made herself stay still, breathing slow as he rolled over. He laid on his back, then gently settled her hand onto his stomach. Oliver left his hand over hers and let out a breath.

Felicity snuck a look at him through her lashes and was surprised to find his eyes closed, face relaxed. She found herself smiling absently, then self-consciousness fluttered through her. Was this okay? Did he _actually_ want to be there with her or was he playing yet another part, waiting out the minutes until she decided it was time to get up?

Felicity chewed on her cheek, unsure what to do. Did it matter? He… _was_ hired to be there with her, wasn't he? She wrinkled her nose at the thought, disliking the cold, slimy feeling to it. She didn't want him to do anything just because she had _paid_ him to. But…his face looked peaceful in a way that could never be bought, and the care with which he had picked up her hand, careful not to disturb her as he adjusted, it…well, she liked to think it meant something other than good business sense.

Felicity, in a reckless moment of ' _why not?',_ nuzzled closer to Oliver. She actually held onto him rather than allowing her arm to just rest on his stomach, and her legs were definitely a little more friendly than they would have been had her family been around. He did not protest, though, and her doubts didn't catch up and make her pull back.

But Felicity _did_ notice that Oliver gently ran his thumb across her arm, almost tender in its simplicity.

The two of them finally got up a little after four thirty. Felicity could hear Gina's kids downstairs, the sound muted through the closed door. Oliver eased upright, then hung his legs off the side of the bed. Felicity watched him, still a little muddled from her nap. He glanced back at her, still tangled in the afghan and sprawled out from where she had been holding him a few seconds before.

"If you want to keep sleeping, I can go down by myself," he said softly. Felicity shook her head and stretched.

"N-no, I'm fine," she yawned. "I should get up now, or I never will."

She sat up and fumbled for her glasses. With a bracing breath, Felicity heaved herself off the bed.

"How's my makeup?" she asked. Oliver looked her over, then leaned across the bed.

"Fine, but your hair…" he began, attempting to smooth down some errant strands. Felicity gave a slight groan and pulled her hair down.

"It's easiest to just do it over," she sighed, slinging it back into a normal ponytail rather than the fancy wrap-around-the-elastic number she had done that morning.

Oliver tugged her cardigan sleeve back onto her shoulder. Felicity looked down at his hand as he settled her sweater into place, then flashed him a quick smile in thanks. She had the impulse to return the favor, but Oliver's ensemble was utilitarian in its attractiveness. A dark flannel shirt and cuffed jeans were kind of difficult to mess up with a single nap.

"You ready?" she asked, smoothing down her skirt.

"Absolutely," he said, giving her a smile. It didn't feel quite as authentic as some of the ones he'd given her before.

"When were you thinking about leaving?" Oliver asked as they walked down the hall.

"I don't know, something like seven or eight. We'll see."

Oliver nodded as they turned down the stairs.

" _Felicity!"_ Collin shrilled, catching sight of them from the foot of the stairs. He was Gina's youngest at about six and perhaps her most boisterous. He rushed up to hug Felicity, making her rock back from the impact. It was only Oliver's hands on her shoulder and elbow that kept her from falling over. Instantly the other kids materialized around her, hugging and babbling about their day. Oliver too, she noticed, was receiving some love. Collin firmly attached himself to Oliver's knees once they all made the landing, and Aaron immediately drew him into conversation.

"Hey, kids, let 'em breathe," Michael said, passing through the hall from the living room. The flock pressed back but kept up the noise.

"Dad, can we have cake now?" one of the kids asked, earning a laugh from their father.

"Didn't we tell you? We canceled the cake. No cake, just disappointment and tears."

One of the kids was taken in, gasping out _"What?!"_ , while Collin gave him a look that could only be described as sassy.

"But I saw-I saw Aunt Siobhan making a cake."

"Yeah, that's a snack for her and Wyatt to take on the road."

" _No,"_ Collin said, trailing after his father.

Felicity followed, hoping to find something she could help with. As she neared the kitchen, delicious baking smells reached her nose. Siobhan was leaning against the counter, speaking to Gina.

"Hey, Oliver, wanna play cards with me?" Nicole asked. Oliver hesitated just a moment too long for his response to be genuine.

"Yeah, sure."

"Here, I'll ask Gina and Siobhan if they want to join," Felicity offered, speaking to Nicole but looking at Oliver. He visibly relaxed at the mention of more adults diluting the children around him.

"Aunt Gina, Siobhan," Felicity called as Oliver was dragged off to the parlor, "you guys wanna play cards?"

"Hm?" Siobhan asked, turning to look at Felicity.

"Cards. Oliver might have a panic attack if he has to deal with all the kids alone."

"Yeah, sounds good," Gina laughed, then turned to Siobhan. "Do you have a timer on the chicken?"

"Yep," Siobhan said, waving her phone in the air.

"You made your own birthday dinner?" Felicity asked, feeling guilty for having slunk off to bed before offering help.

"No, in fact, I didn't, Michael and Aaron made them. I'm not allowed to so much as turn on the rice cooker."

"Is there anything you need me to do?"

"I was going to warm up corn and maybe make strawberry pina coladas for dinner," Siobhan said, nudging Felicity with her hip as she passed. "Never fear, younger Smoak, you won't be a free loader today."

"See if you can get Oliver to help her with the drinks," Gina said, wicked smile on her face. "I'm curious about the next kitchen weightlifting event."

"How about _no,"_ Felicity said firmly. Thanks to Cisco, the image of Oliver stealing her sugars was now _very_ prominent in her mind.

"I feel like there's a story I'm missing," Siobhan said as they entered the parlor. Nicole was shuffling cards, while Aaron and Oliver waited patiently.

"There _isn't,_ " Felicity said, then abruptly changed the subject as she sat next to Oliver. "So, what're we playing?"

"I was thinking an easy game of Phase 10, and then we could play _Nerts,"_ Nicole said, patting the numerous decks of cards next to her. That girl had a sadistic streak.

"Nerts?" Oliver asked. Nicole smirked at him.

"Best way to explain it is to play it."

"Untrue," Aaron countered, shifting over to allow his mother a place to sit. "It's best described as 'multiplayer solitaire on crack'."

"Great," Oliver said, the word sounding like a rock. Felicity shot him a smile and patted his leg.

They played cards for a while, Siobhan winning their truncated game of Phase 10 before they launched into a very intense game of Nerts. Oliver turned out to be shockingly adept, and ended up clearing out his hand before nearly everyone else. Aaron managed to win in terms of technique, though he cast Oliver an appraising look as they counted up everyone's points, sizing up a rival.

Siobhan excused herself after the second round of Nerts to check on the chicken. Michael became her substitute, which resulted in the game being filled with ridiculous sound effects and squawking. Felicity followed Siobhan into the kitchen after one more round to help make the drinks. A short while later, the rest of the family came in clamoring for food.

Felicity enjoyed the conversation during dinner, a lighter, less critical version of Thanksgiving. They weren't all there to subtly tally up the changes that had happened since the last family reunion, they were there only to help Gina celebrate her big day. Felicity laughed and ate, enjoying her place next to Oliver in the dining room. He had warmed up since the delightful chaos of the card game, his conversation more genuine than complimentary. Oliver wasn't focused on charming the people around him, he was truly interacting; teasing and holding to contrary opinions, rather than taking a diplomatic middle ground.

After dinner, Michael announced that everyone needed time to digest before cake. The children flaked away for other forms of entertainment, but the adults stayed at the table. The conversation became a little more mature, not quite tipping into serious, but more sophisticated than it had been over dinner.

Felicity leaned against Oliver's shoulder, not minding the stretch required to bridge the gap between their chairs. They were currently listening to one of Michael's stories about Labrador, how everything had been breathtaking despite the appalling weather.

Felicity glanced up at the ceiling, realizing that she had been sitting most all day. She let out a gentle sigh, suddenly wanting to do something different.

"Do you want to go out to the swing?" she whispered to Oliver.

"The swing?"

"Mm-hm, by the pond," she said, pointing vaguely toward the sliding glass door.

"…Sure," he said, a hesitancy in his voice she didn't quite understand.

"If you want to stay here, that's fine. It'll be cold, so if you want to stay warm…"

"No, I'll go," he said, bracing his hands against the table.

"Where're you kids going?" Wyatt asked. They both looked up at him, Felicity feeling very much like a deer in the headlights.

"Felicity and I were going out to the swing," Oliver said, standing up.

"In this cold?" Gina asked, raising her eyebrows and glancing at the windows. "And dark?"

"The swing's _right there._ And Oliver and I have good coats."

"Do you at least want a hat or something?" Gina asked, easing out of her seat.

"That would be nice. Oliver…?"

"I'd like a scarf," he admitted, and Gina herded them to the hall closet. She found Felicity an unbelievably thick grey hat, while Oliver was given a wide argyle scarf, which was frankly _adorable_ on him. They put on their coats and Oliver again offered support for Felicity as she wedged her way back into her boots.

"Don't fall into the water," Gina warned from the doorway, watching them tromp across the lawn.

The two of them walked through the frozen grass to the swing, tucked a ways back from the side of the house. It was blocked from the driveway by a large hedge, but once they passed through the gate, the pond was the first thing to be seen. The pond was made to look natural, and Felicity had to admit Gina and Michael had done a fantastic job. It looked idyllic, full of plants without the normal pond scum and uncertain banks. The edges of the pond were frozen, sending little white lines across the surface where water met ice. Sitting next to it was a large tree, from which a wide seated swing hung.

"It's beautiful," Oliver said as they neared. The lights from the house dimly lit the scene, but a moment later, the string of lights over the back patio flicked on, casting a warm yellow light across the backyard. Gina waved at them from the dining room's sliding glass door, then sat down with the others.

"I _loved_ coming here as a kid," Felicity said. "It was exactly like I dreamed backyards should be. Vegas was just _rock_ and _cactuses._ "

"I had a huge yard where I grew up," Oliver told her as she settled on the swing. "Except it was ringed by woods."

"Did you have a lot of adventures in them?" Felicity asked, watching her breath plume up in front of her. The cold cut through her in a way that was just brisk enough to be energizing, making her nose run and her fingers go a little numb.

"Not really."

"You didn't even play outside with your sister?" she asked. Felicity didn't look away from the water as Oliver shifted beside her.

"We didn't really… _play_ as much."

"I never would have guessed it, the way you handle Gina's kids. Sometimes, you _don't_ actually look terrified of being alone with them."

Oliver shot her a look that Felicity felt even in the dark. She ignored him (except for a tiny little smirk, because she felt a little triumphant that they were now at the make-fun-of-each-other stage) and pushed off with her feet. She pumped her legs, leaning her whole body into trying to get some momentum.

A pair of hands glanced over her shoulders, then dragged the swing back by the ropes. Then Felicity was swishing out over the pond and gliding back. She broke into a surprised laugh and looked back at Oliver. He was standing off to the side, hands in his pockets like he hadn't done anything, but Felicity could see the glimmers of his responding smile.

"This pond is just so pretty," Felicity sighed after a moment, pumping her legs to keep herself going.

"And what if you fall into it?" Oliver asked.

"Then I'd go into very squeally shock, and you'd have to jump in and save me from hypothermia." Felicity smirked back at Oliver, but he seemed more somber than before. She couldn't quite see him with the shadows spreading across his face, but his posture seemed tense. She frowned, still watching him.

"Do you want me to stop swinging so hard?"

"No, I'm fine. If you _do_ fall in, _you'll_ be the one with the bruised pride." he said, straightening. His voice was a little teasing, making her wonder if the tension she had seen had even been real.

Felicity was quiet for a moment, soaking up the peace of the darkness. Her fingers and nose had shifted from pleasantly cold to almost uncomfortably so, and she had yet to figure out a way to wipe her nose without being obvious or tugging the swing to one side and knocking into Oliver. Despite all of that, there was something unattainably fresh about sitting out there in the dark, practically tasting the ice in the air.

"I love the winter," she murmured, hardly aware that she had said anything.

"Depends on where you are," Oliver said. She looked at him, surprised he had commented.

"Yeah?"

"Toronto is…cold," he said. The numb, understated way he said it made Felicity burst into laughter, because on a _good_ day Toronto in winter was considered 'cold'.

"Toronto? How long were you there?"

"The better part of a year."

"Before or after Chinatown?"

"After," he said, a smile in his voice.

"Was it bad, though? Toronto, I mean."

"It wasn't terrible." There was more hiding in his voice that she was sure alluded to a miserable winter. Felicity felt something inside her droop at the thought of Oliver passing a long, lonely frigid few months in the snow and ice.

She stopped swinging her legs, and let her momentum keep her going.

 _Had_ he been lonely? She hoped not.

"Okay, but where was your favorite place in winter?" Felicity asked, wanting to find something lighter. Oliver was quietly examining the grass, considering. She let him have the silence, suddenly wondering if he _did_ have a favorite place. Most of the things he had said about himself had been negatives; his father being dead, not having a car, not liking sports. Was that because he simply  _had_ no positives? She didn't want that. She didn't want him to be unhappy.

"I liked Florida," he said softly. She looked up. "Miami was…it was different."

She broke into a grin, trying to imagine Oliver, with his muted colors and serious expression in shorts and shades, sauntering down the bright, cluttered sidewalks of the Magic City.

"You seem to have traveled a lot," she commented.

"I suppose," he said, catching hold of one of the swing ropes once she slowed down enough. "Seeing places, people…I've learned a lot."

"That'd be cool."

"Have you not traveled much?"

"You saw my folder," she said with a shrug. "Just Vegas, Cambridge, then Starling."

"Not even for trips?"

She shrugged again, feeling uncomfortable with the question. Yes, she had _traveled,_ but to simple places on simple trips. Seattle, Portland, Los Angeles once, and then a few trips to New York while she had been at college, but she was certain they were unlike anything Oliver had seen. She had hit all of the touristy places, the vanilla bookstores and markets, too bland for proper retelling. Nothing half so exciting as the things Oliver had probably seen.

Oliver was quiet as she slowed to a rocky halt. Both of them were thinking in the dark, letting their steamy breaths fill up the spaces between them in place of words.

"Thank you for doing this for me," she said, no longer comfortable being alone with her thoughts. Oliver was a solid warmth beside her, chasing a bit of the chill away from her side.

"Not at all," he said, using that same empty tone as all the other times she had mentioned their arrangement.

"No, really. Like, this wasn't just about you saving my bacon. I've been talking about how big the winter season is to _my_ family and I haven't even thought about yours. Are you…I'm not tearing you away from them, am I?"

"No," he said, voice a little heavier than she was used to. "They don't mind."

"Oh, good. I know it's not like I'm stealing you for Christmas or anything, but I _did_ take your Thanksgiving, and…it's good I'm not taking you away."

Oliver was quiet for a long moment, and something in Felicity could tell it went right along with his heavy tone. She didn't look at him, nervous she might break the spun glass wrapped around the moment.

"I haven't really…been in contact with my family lately."

Felicity looked at him, blinking in surprise.

"You and your mom and sister? But it's the holidays," she said stupidly, not understanding why he wouldn't keep in touch with them. She turned back to face the pond, embarrassed by her insensitive response. "I mean, that's just…that's unfortunate. Why…?"

"We parted on…difficult terms."

Felicity nodded, grimacing at the taut quality in his voice. "Do you…miss them?"

"Yes."

"Then, coming from the ignorant, unimportant third party that I am…I think you should try to patch things up with them, if that's what you want. Family is…" A necessity. Important. Wonderful. Judgmental. Frustrating. Fundamental. But Oliver had seen everything that family meant to her already, so there wasn't much of a point in saying all that aloud. She missed them when they were gone, looked forward to seeing everyone at reunions, was willing to overlook disagreements with her mother to allow her to spend the weekend over. Yeah, she didn't _adore_ all of them, but…they were her _family._ Felicity couldn't fathom what she would be like if they were just…not there. She couldn't imagine being a little more alone than she was normally.

Felicity cleared her throat, forcing herself to look back at Oliver.

"I think you should try to reconnect with them, if you miss them. I mean, can't live with them and all that, right?"

Oliver nodded at the grass but didn't say anything. She looked up at the stars, a few faint flickers visible beyond the clouds. She was afraid to stay in her head for much longer, but she also didn't want to break the delicate silence between them. Oliver had given her a truth that she honestly wasn't sure she had any right to have, but was holding it close, just in case.

She sighed, then looked at Oliver. "Do you want to try the swing?"

Oliver looked over at her, as if surprised to find that she had not left in the long moments of quiet. He shook his head.

"No, I'm fine."

Felicity looked at him a moment, almost frowning. "You know, you say that a lot."

Oliver blinked at her with a frown. He tilted his head like he was reviewing all of the things he had said to her.

"Say what?"

"'I'm fine'," she said simply. His frown intensified as though he didn't believe her.

"I…do?"

"Yeah," Felicity said, shrinking a little where she sat. She didn't know why, but that suddenly seemed like a very personal observation to make. Oliver seemed almost troubled at the revelation, making her uncomfortable. "I mean, that's fine, I just…I just noticed, is all. But, uhm, you sure about the swing? It's kind of nice."

Oliver watched her for a moment longer, then gave a slow nod.

"Sure," he said, the words seeming to stumble out of him without realizing it. Felicity nodded and got up, smoothing down her skirts to distance herself from her sudden awkwardness. Oliver sat down on the swing, arms wrapped around the ropes to keep himself secure. Felicity moved behind him and gave his shoulders a solid push. Feeling his back beneath her palms made Felicity feel a little more grounded.

They were quiet again, the dull creek of the swing and the crisp breeze filling up the space around them. Felicity shifted in the grass, her clothes suddenly not seeming to fit her correctly.

She had been thinking earlier in the week that Oliver had allowed her to get to know him, but now she was sitting with all of these little details neatly piled in her lap and she had no idea what to do. She knew what she _wanted_ to do, though. She wanted to retreat back inside, to hide from all of these intimate truths that were suddenly spilling forth. She wanted to curl up on the couch with Oliver, her head on his chest and his hand resting over hers the way it had during their nap. She wanted simple, she wanted manageable, she wanted that straightforward understanding that worked well for them so far. The conversation, slight as it was, had pushed her from her safety zone and now she was willing to leave it alone and resume her self-gratifying game of pretend.

The thought made her feel _dirty_. Oliver wasn't a _thing_ she could just pick up and use to make herself feel better. He was a person, a person that was choosing to be there with her, _choosing_ to be upfront with her. She needed to stop acting like he didn't have a choice in the matter, like he was completely subservient to her will.

"Felicity?"

"Yes?" she asked, dragging in a breath as he tore her from her thoughts. She stepped to Oliver's side so she could hear him a little better.

"Why did you ask me to join you?" he asked, slowing himself by dragging his feet on the ground.

"What? Uhm, because I told my family I had a boyfriend?"

"No," he said, looking up at her. He was turned away from the light of the house so she couldn't really see his face, but Felicity _felt_ the seriousness in his eyes. "Why tonight?"

She stared at him, still not understanding.

"You don't need to keep pretending like this. Why did you hire me?"

"Gina invited the two of us," she said, still a little confused. "I mean, I _could_ have just come alone, but it was kind of an express invitation and it just felt kind of odd to be bring you for Thanksgiving but not Hanukkah, and if I'm doing those two holidays, I might as well do the one that we _both_ were invited to… I guess it just seemed easier this way? I mean, it worked out fine before."

He nodded and pushed himself back in the swing. He wasn't quite frowning at the pond, but his expression was almost troubled.

"Anything else?" she asked playfully. "I'm an open book."

"No, you're not," he said absently, still watching the semi-frozen pond.

"What?"

Oliver turned to her like he was just realizing what he had said. But he didn't look embarrassed, or shocked, or even critical of her. Simply direct.

"You're not an open book. I don't…know very much about you."

Felicity stared at him, trying to get his words to compute. He didn't know anything about her? How was _that_ possible? She was a blabber mouth, virtually everything that appeared in her head was said out loud. She had spent the entire car ride up there discussing the nuances of _werewolf literature,_ for heaven's sake _._ He _had_ to have learned _something_ about her.

"Yeah, you do," she said. "I gave you a _folder_ about me." A folder with only two and a half pages of bullet points, _but still._

"You did," Oliver agreed, giving her a tiny smile. "But a lot of that I could have discovered by being around you."

Felicity reviewed the information she had given him. Full name, age, where she had been born, where she went to college, details that all seemed important. She had told him her religion, what her family situation was, what kind of job she had. And with all of that, he didn't know her? The thought almost made her burst into laughter. _He_ was the enigma, Felicity didn't even know his middle _name_ (hers was Meghan, which had, coincidentally, _been on the first page_.).

"Seriously, though?" she asked, a bit of the laughter bleeding into her voice. "You know everything about me."

Oliver looked at her again, a steady, piercing thing. It was delivered with a long breath and a tilt of the head, allowing him to literally get a look at her from another angle. She resisted the urge to fidget as he thought, but instead met his eyes. They weren't accusatory or haughty or anything, so there was _no need_ for her to feel so unsettled.

"You're…less of an open book and more of a…cardboard cutout. I know details about you, but a lot of it is what I can see."

Felicity watched him with an incredulous smile on her face. Cardboard cutout. Those were perilously close to the words she had used to describe him, a quiet figure sitting in her car on the ride up for Thanksgiving.

The briefest flash of panic arose in her stomach. Was this a criticism, him calling her flat, depthless? No, of course not, the look on his face was far too mild for that. But the wariness stayed with her. He didn't seem concerned, completely accepting of this fact.

Again the thought of how strange this was hit her. _She_ wasn't the secretive one, _Oliver_ was. Frustration began to bleed in as she thought more on it. Even if he really _didn't_ know her that well, wasn't he bothered by his ignorance? The lack of answers Felicity had about Oliver nagged at her, wanting to be answered despite her newfound apprehension. She wanted to know who this man was, the one that was able to put on any sort of mask and fit the situation, but who was also genuinely and alarmingly kind, quietly holding her tight after the argument with her mother and not demanding a thing in return. Didn't _he_ want to know more about her?

Was he so accepting because secrecy was his own watch word?

"I don't understand," Felicity said, forced into speaking when she couldn't puzzle it out. Oliver gave a slight smile and looked away. He let out a slow sigh, spinning his breath through the air.

"You don't lay your deeper thoughts on a platter. You're…diplomatic in that sense."

"Well, it depends on the topic," she laughed, but it didn't feel very funny. "I mean, if it's not going to really matter, if it's just poking a bear, no, I'm not gonna go...I dunno, talk presidential politics with my coworkers or something."

Oliver nodded, and Felicity rocked back on her heels. She felt off kilter, out of balance in the conversation. He wasn't saying anything rude or inflammatory, but Felicity felt certain that she should be defending herself, putting up her dukes and defying his statements. But they were correct and he wasn't looking for a fight. His strange, questionless acceptance was throwing her, different from the painfully earnest doubt of her mother or the flippant comments of her coworkers.

"Why did you tell your family you had a boyfriend? Why not tell them the truth, or say you two broke up?" he asked, watching her as he delivered his rhetoric.

"Because—I didn't want to admit I'd said such a stupid lie. You met Jodie, she'd never let me live it down." Felicity tried to keep her voice light, but her skin was prickling all over.

"And this was easier?"

"Yeah," Felicity said, the flat taste of a lie filling her mouth. He didn't say anything for a while, just watched her. It was like his gaze was drawing out the little truths she had happily been ignoring.

It hadn't _really_ been simplicity that had driven her to this, far from it. She had planned and fretted and budgeted and worked to set this whole thing up. She had spoken to her friends in Central City, but then had also sought out the worldly wisdom of her old roommate, Sara, double and triple checking her work. The unexpected gift of Sara giving her Oliver's info had cut down on a whole _swathe_ of interviews that Felicity had initially planned on doing. It had not been simplicity that had sent her to Oliver.

Worry over her family's further disappointment and criticisms had led her to all of this. The dread of failure had led her to all of this. _That_ was what had made her so nervous on Thanksgiving, that was the dirty secret that she worried about being smeared somewhere public. It wasn't that she had hired an escort, or even that she had lied. It was the fear that she would fall short of their expectations, that weird, geeky Felicity Smoak had failed in fulfilling their mandate of finding a boyfriend.

Felicity grimaced, not liking how the realization stung. She leaned on the rope of the swing and closed her eyes. Oliver pressed his hand on the small of her back, giving her a support she hadn't realized she needed.

They stayed in silence for a while, just listening to the things going on around them.

"Hey, you two!" Gina yelled from across the yard. Felicity jolted around to see her aunt confined to the porch by her lack of shoes. "We're having cake now."

"Okay!" Felicity called back, waving at her. Gina disappeared back into the house, leaving the silent shatters of the moment in her wake. Felicity cleared her throat, doubting if she could meet Oliver's eyes after everything. He hadn't been inside of her head, _thank goodness,_ but she felt certain he would see the truth hiding in her eyes, the insecurities and doubts that she didn't want anyone, especially _him,_ to see.

She looked up at the sky, not wanting to resume their conversation but also not wanting to go inside and act like…she didn't know what. She just didn't want to do it. Felicity wanted to go back to leaning on the swing, Oliver's hand on her back as he let her be but also did not leave her alone.

"Do you…do you want to go in?"

"Yeah...sounds good. It's kinda cold out here."

Felicity nodded and forced out a smile that was almost natural. She felt strange, not _unhappy_ , necessarily, but definitely disquieted.

They walked back to the front door so as to avoid tracking mud through the dining room. Felicity felt nervous beside Oliver, not certain what to do with all of the _things_ he had brought up. The hints at the fractured reality with his family had been said with a fragile hesitancy that made her chest ache. But then the pointed questions about herself had been said with an almost sweet understanding, as if he simply wanted to alert Felicity to fact and nothing more. She had no idea what to make of it. She had no idea what to do with Oliver Dearden.

Then she noticed the familiar brush of his arm against hers, and Felicity felt okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is important. Honesty is important. Recognition is important. Healthy relationships are just so important.


	9. now is the time to fix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself.

Felicity leaned back in her chair, resisting the urge to rub her hands over her eyes. From the moment she had sat down in her desk she had been working nonstop, trouble shooting computers, fixing login errors, connecting people to Queen Consolidated's main system. It wasn't hard, but it was tedious work, mind numbing in its monotony. Someday she would be promoted over to the R&D section of IT and then she would actually be challenging herself. But that still was not today.

The thing that got Felicity through was the reminder that she was being fast tracked through her career. Queen Consolidated had been hesitant to hire someone so fresh out of college for one of the upper level positions, no matter how intelligent she might have been. But her internship at STAR Labs had given her an enormous leg up, and she knew that if she could just bide her time her leap for Queen Consolidated would be paid off. Even if she had to currently settle for the handhold job she was grossly over qualified for.

She checked the clock, wishing the next twenty minutes would just _go_ already. It was starting to feel like her lunch break was the only time she got to breathe. Things had steadily become more hectic since Thanksgiving, with work, family visits, and last minute decisions to drive out to Gina's place every week all stacking on top of each other.

Felicity stepped over the uncomfortable rustling in her head that involved tree swings, impromptu naps, cuddling, and the certain someone they all involved. She instead chose to focus on Caitlin's trip to Starling. She was flying down to Los Angeles and had a hefty layover in Starling. Felicity was excited to be able to see her friend for the first time in over a year, and the two of them had planned to spend the entire afternoon together. And, if Felicity was being honest, she was eager to make the most of the time and hear some of Caitlin's staunch advise on...whatever the heck it was Felicity was doing. Things had been swirling around in her head since her latest visit to Gina's, clamoring for attention that she didn't know how to give. There was just so much that Felicity wasn't ready to tackle, and she felt that things would be much better with a fresh, non-Felicity pair of eyes.

…Maybe she wasn't eager. More insistent. Worried over? Completely and absolutely dreading some of the things Caitlin might say?

Felicity put her head in her hands. She _really_ didn't need this the week of Hanukkah.

"Hey, Felicity, are you finished troubleshooting Johnson's computer?" Manuel asked, poking his head into her cubicle. She straightened, hoping there wasn't a red mark on her forehead.

"Oh, uhm, no, not yet. It _might_ be a virus, but I think it's just that stupid scheduling program we've got to use. It's so glitchy it's amazing we get any work done."

"Don't let Denise hear you talking like that," he said with a smirk. "The way she pitched that thing, you'd have thought it was her _baby._ "

"Makes enough of a mess to be one," she grumbled lightly, earning a wink from Manuel before he walked away.

Felicity turned back to her work, but didn't start right away.

Did…Manuel think she kept her deeper thoughts to herself? He had certainly felt like he knew her enough to help her move her furniture, but beyond that…did he believe that she hid her less sociable thoughts, like Oliver said?

Nope, nope, she wasn't thinking about this, it was just going to become a muddle and lead her to other groggy places and then she'd probably get distracted about Oliver looking up at her, eyes sincere in the dark and looking so, _so_ pretty and making her want to throw her arms around his neck and hug him until neither one of them could breathe or—

Felicity groaned and leaned back in her seat. She stared at the ceiling and wished she could take back all of these very inconvenient _feelings_ until it suited her schedule a little better.

Felicity managed to get through the next day until Caitlin was in town. She beamed when she saw Caitlin near baggage claim and pulled her into a hug. Immediately the two of them were talking as they walked out to Felicity's car.

"Oh, how've you been?" Felicity asked.

"I've been good. Dr. Wells has us working on this new project making smart fabrics. Barry's _dying_ because he's only part time at the lab."

"You dyed your hair?" Felicity asked, noting the distinctly blond tilt to the bottom of her red hair.

"Yeah, a couple of weeks ago," Caitlin said, smiling and running a lock through her fingers. "I wanted to shake it up a bit. Ronnie wasn't in love with it at first, but it definitely grew on him."

They drove into town and at Catilin's request, stopped for an early dinner at one of Felicity's favorite food trucks. It was perhaps the best and only vegetarian place that Felicity would allow herself to eat from, because _somehow_ their black bean burgers managed to beat out real hamburgers, made with spices like cilantro and oregano and _deliciousness._

They walked as they ate, Caitlin more than delighted to stretch her legs after the long plane ride. But soon enough the cold was chasing them to the warm confines of Felicity's car. Snow had finally fallen over Starling, a fine, consistent haze that had yet to stop for more than a few hours. According to the weather man, it would keep going all week.

Caitlin admired Felicity's apartment when she was shown inside, expressing her particular delight over the modern yet cozy furniture (the Christmas lights were yet again a big hit, for which Felicity mentally high fived the blog she had stolen the idea from).

Ditching their coats and shoes by the door, the two women moved into the living room. Caitlin was discussing a recent article she had read on women in the work place when Felicity said, "Hold on, leaving the room but still listening; keep talking!" She popped into the kitchen to grab her lighter, then walked over to the living room window.

"Could you hold on a sec?" she asked Caitlin, the long-necked lighter poised above her menorah. Caitlin frowned a moment, then seemed to notice the set of candles on the window sill.

"Oh, yeah! Go ahead," she said, then sat very still as she watched Felicity. Trying not to feel self-conscious, Felicity recited her prayers and then began lighting the menorah.

"How long do you let them burn?" Caitlin asked once she was finished, watching the delicate lights flicker against the dark pane. Felicity stepped back, eyes also on the candles.

"At least half an hour," Felicity said, then returned to the kitchen to put the lighter away.

"It's so…peaceful," Caitlin murmured. "I mean, this is only the second time I've seen someone celebrate Hanukkah, and the other time was with you during your internship, but it always seems so much less… _commercial_ than Christmas."

"Well, it depends on the person celebrating it, same as every holiday," Felicity said, returning to the living room.

"I didn't even know it was Hanukkah," Caitlin said.

"Yep. Ends on Tuesday," she said, sitting down next to Caitlin.

They continued talking, moving into the kitchen once to get drinks, but then migrating back out. At the back of her mind, Felicity felt her anxiety over Oliver growing stronger. She tried to tune it out, but some part of her was demanding that she tell Caitlin, that she ask for help because she had noticed the way she felt so happy snuggling next to him, the way his touch after their discussion by the swing had made everything seem better. She noticed the way her stomach jolted when she thought about seeing him again on Friday and it terrified her to no end.

Felicity attempted to distract herself with the conversation, but nothing worked. By the time she got up to refill her glass, Felicity had decided that she needed to tell Caitlin or she would honestly explode.

Felicity let the conversation wander for a few minutes after she returned to the couch, then broke in with her own topic during a lull.

"Caitlin, I think I made a bad mistake," she said, half-terrified, half-relieved at the words coming out of her mouth.

Caitlin frowned in question.

"I…hired Oliver again."

"Oh?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

" _Yes._ I don't even know how it happened. I wasn't going to, I was going to just leave it at Thanksgiving, but…then I was talking to my Aunt Gina and she said she wanted us over, and then I was arranging for him to come over for Gina's birthday and Hanukkah and _ooooooooooh_ I do not think this will end well."

"Wait. Stop. You hired him for _two_ more days?"

"Yes," Felicity said, shrinking where she sat.

"Okay. Why…is this so bad?"

Felicity glanced at Caitlin from the corner of her eye, dreading saying it out loud. It was just so pathetic.

"Because he's hot and kind and I just kind of want to climb in his shirt and kiss him until I can't see straight," Felicity confessed in a blur, then grabbed a throw pillow and hid her face. She listened for Caitlin's response, heart pounding hard enough to knock her off the couch. But she wanted to hear Caitlin's advice, no matter how mortifying this all was. Caitlin was smart and level headed and not likely to fall in love with an escort.

No. Felicity was not in love. She might have had a very inconvenient crush, but she wasn't in anything quite so damning as love.

She snuck a peek at Caitlin. The other woman was blinking repeatedly, expression slack as she stared into space. Felicity didn't need staring into space, she needed an eye roll and a firm _'no you're not get over yourself'._ Caitlin looked at her, searching for answers.

"You like him?"

" _Yes,"_ Felicity sighed, barely letting the word squeak through the couch cushion.

"When— _how?_ How did this happen?"

"I don't know!" she half-wailed. "One moment I'm paying him, completely fine with never seeing him again, and the next I'm laying in bed, _spooning_ him after falling asleep to whispering about our dreams!"

" _Wait—_ you were in _bed_ with him?!"

"We were fully clothed, taking a nap!" Felicity huffed, practically throwing her arms in the air. Out of all of that, Caitlin was preoccupied with the idea that they had sex, not that they were _confiding their wishes_ to each other. One seemed _far_ more important to Felicity, and it was not the one Caitlin was thinking of. "Platonically, platonically taking a nap."

Caitlin stowed away her piety for one blessed moment and gave Felicity the kind of guarded pity she needed to snap out of it. "Felicity…he's _paid_ to do stuff like that. It's his job to make it seem like…there's more."

"I _know,_ " she moaned. "I totally know that, that's why I feel so _miserable._ I mean, this...it's not real? But then another part of me is pointing out that he's _different_ in some moments. I can tell when he's putting on a show, when he's playing the perfect boyfriend. He's _flawless_ , charming and easy going and handling any awkward, off the wall thing I or my family says." The exact qualities that had struck Donna as so false. "But then _sometimes,_ it feels like…I don't know, _not_ that. He isn't slinging out prepared statements or whatever, there are times when we're talking and he gets quiet after I ask or say something, like he's _really_ thinking, considering what he _should_ say against what he also _could_ say. Does that make sense?"

"Not quite," Caitlin said, shaking her head. Felicity sighed, trying to find another way to explain.

"Oliver…it's like when he told me he could speak all those languages. He got quiet, careful, and when he spoke it was like he wanted to make sure every word was right, like he was really _working_ at it. He'll tell me things like how he wants to travel, or just— _little things,_ " she said finally. " _Little things,_ like forgiving it when I ramble or offering to sleep on the floor in case I wasn't comfortable napping on the same bed as him, things he didn't _need_ to do or say. And—and when we took the nap, he…he was so careful," she said, voice slowing down. "He picked up my hand so he could shift positions, but he was so _gentle,_ careful not to wake me, and then he just held it afterward, letting it sit on his chest."

It was never the _big_ things that made Felicity like Oliver, not his looks or his arm around her shoulders or even him getting along with her family. It was him being interested during her nerdy tirades and pushing her on the swing or remembering the small details about the things she said. It was the little things that made her think maybe—

No, she was _not_ doing that. Liking her escort was bad enough, but carelessly imagining he liked her _back_ was…that was begging for trouble.

Caitlin frowned at the cushions between them, then looked back at her. "I can see how this could cause problems. But can't you just _cancel_ with him on Hanukkah?"

"I don't _want_ to, that's the bad thing!" Felicity flopped back into couch cushions. This was so perverse. "I mean…it's just for this last time, right? I can't afford him again, anyway, and I'm _not_ going to become one of those people who pays a human being to have _feelings_ for them."

She scowled at the wall, thinking about Oliver. She probably shouldn't see Oliver again if she wasn't sure if she could be around him without being dead obvious. But it was only for that last time, the last time for her to see him be handsome and delightful and be even more sincere and wonderful than she already thought. That wasn't fair for her to do to herself. Then the unsteady whispers at the back of her mind slunk forward, carrying her mother's doubts with them.

"It's stupid, anyway," she said, hardly aware of speaking. "I mean, Oliver is…it's not like I'd be worth the kind of boyfriend he's being."

"Excuse me?" Caitlin asked.

Felicity shrugged at her. "I don't think I'd normally get a boyfriend like him. He's…his kind of guy would probably be looking for a girl that's a little… _more._ "

" _No,"_ Caitlin said, and the granite in her voice was enough to make Felicity straighten. "No, you do not get to talk about yourself like that. He's _paid_ to seem perfect, Felicity, that doesn't mean he really is!"

"It's not the perfect moments I'm _interested_ in," Felicity pointed out, almost exasperated. "It's the others, stuff like that…how am I going to get that with a guy?"

"Where is this coming from?" Caitlin demanded. Felicity shrugged again, suddenly feeling caught.

"It's not coming from—this isn't—I'm not—"

"No, you think you're, what, not good enough for him?"

Felicity pursed her lips, thinking, _Well, there's a reason it hasn't happened yet._

It sounded uncannily like her mother.

"Why do you think that?"

Felicity continued with the unknowing shrug, almost afraid to answer. Caitlin let out an annoyed huff and looked away.

"I don't know, I mean…Oliver is…when he's being just _himself,_ he's so much more… I don't know," she repeated. "Maybe I'm just—I'm too distant for stuff like that."

Felicity closed her eyes. Of frakking course she had to say that. She thought she had been stuffing that away for a later date. Now Caitlin was staring at her like she was crazy.

"What are you even _saying?_ You're _distant?_ "

"I—I—it's something I— _I dunno,_ " she said, the words tumbling out in an awkward haze. "I mean, it's…I've kinda been wondering about it. I mean, it's just something that came up when I was talking to Oliver the other day. We were talking about something stupid, and then I asked if he had any other questions, because I was convinced I'm an open book! And then he said I _wasn't?"_

Felicity stared at Caitlin in desperation, trying to get her to understand and agree with her. But at the same time...she didn't _want_ Caitlin to reaffirm the hollow echoes going around Felicity's head. She wanted Caitlin to punch through the doubts and denials Felicity had been spinning around herself for _so long._ But oh, was it scary.

 _"_ And that really threw me, because _he's_ the hard one to read, really," Felicity continued, completely unable to stop now that her dam had been cracked open. "I told you, getting details about his life was like pulling teeth, and I gave him a _folder_ about me when we first met. Isn't that _literally_ being an open book? But _then_ he said he could have figured all of that out, and I started to get nervous because he started pointing out things that I didn't really talk about, not just my name and height and crap like that, but the _important_ stuff, the deep stuff, and I felt really weird because that's something you should talk to people about! But he didn't seem bothered by it, he wasn't judgmental or anything, it was just him stating a fact for me. And I—I don't tell anyone _anything."_

"Yes, you do," Caitlin said. "You talk to me, Cisco, and Barry about important things."

" _Kind of_. I feel like I'm going to have a panic attack telling all of this stuff to you now!"

"Felicity, Felicity, calm down," Caitlin said, raising her hands in a soothing gesture. "Listen. It's okay to not share everything with everyone. Why are you so worried about that?"

"It feels like lying," she confessed. "You're supposed to be honest with people, right? And not talking about this deeper stuff feels like—feels like I'm hiding things."

"Okay, not true."

"But that's what it _feels_ like! I mean, there's all of this _big stuff_ going on that I'm not telling _anyone_. I mean, it feels like everything I do now is just a big _lie_ I'm telling everyone! It's all hiding and pretending and _lying_ about _everything._ I feel like a fraud."

"You are _not._ Are you telling me literally _everything_ you've done is a lie? Your schooling, your job?"

"No, that's—that's different! I know I'm smart and capable, no questions asked, but that's not me, _Felicity,_ that's Felicity's work. Me as a _human being..._ all of the personal stuff is…not real," she whispered, the realization hitting her with a lump in the back of the throat and a heat in her face. "I've been running around with an _escort,_ pretending that he's my boyfriend and I haven't been feeling _anything_ about it, Caitlin. It's just another thing I'm faking to my family, just another lie I've been feeding them."

Felicity felt the hot, embarrassed tears fall onto her cheeks. She didn't know where this was all pouring from. Her revelation by the swing had felt earth shattering enough, but there was _more_ hiding somewhere in her chest and making it hard to breathe.

"And now that I know just how much I'm _faking_ for them, I'm realizing how much I can't—" She swallowed, trying to find the strength to force the words out past the tears that were falling even harder. Her grip on the throw pillow was enough to make her hands hurt, but she couldn't let go, not now, not when everything else seemed to be falling apart. "All of this _deeper_ stuff, I'm not—I'm not telling people because if I _do_ then it's only showing how much I'm not meeting their standards, showing how much I'm falling short. My family, they have all of these expectations that it's _so obvious_ I can't live up to, like how I can't even find a real freaking _boyfriend!_ "

"You're not failing _anyone,_ " Caitlin said sternly. "Who _cares_ if you don't have a man?"

"My family!"

" _So?_ "

"They're my _family._ They expect me to be with someone, happy, doing something with my life, but I couldn't disappointing them _yet again_ by saying that I didn't have a boyfriend, so I _hired_ one!"

"Felicity, why haven't you told me any of this before?" Caitlin demanded, alarmed but clearly trying to be comforting. "You've never mentioned any of it before."

"I don't know," she said, but that wasn't right, either. She pulled her knees up to her chest, clamping her arms around them hard. "I just—it's been…here, I guess. Everyone's _expecting_ these things from me, and I don't—I couldn't—I'm not _good_ enough," she half sobbed.

Caitlin put a hand on her shoulders, letting them sit in silence for a moment. Felicity tried to control herself, snatching a few tissues from the box on her coffee table, but they ended up a wet ball clenched in her hand. Caitlin looked into her face, eyes serious.

"Felicity, have you told anyone else this?"

She shook her head, afraid to open her mouth in case she let out a high pitched screech made of panic and frustration and anger and terror and shame.

"And you only realized all of it while speaking to Oliver?"

She gave a gesture somewhere between a nod and a shake of the head, not really sure of anything anymore.

"A-a little of it," she managed. "But the rest of it, I-I-I don't know, it's been at the back of my-my head." She squeezed her eyes shut, like maybe that would make all of this go away. When she opened them again, she wouldn't be a tear soaked mess on her couch, she would be talking to Caitlin about her Christmas plans with Ronnie.

Caitlin thought for a moment, then let out a slow breath. "Do you know _why_ you're telling me this now?"

"I don't—I don't like talking about it. It feels like complaining," Felicity whispered. The words slipped from nowhere, but they were painfully true. "I want people to like me. I want to like people and I want them to like me back. I don't want to be whining or anything around them, I want to be _good things._ And I _thought_ I was being honest with them, thought my babbling was at least _straightforward,_ but all of this stuff is happening and it feels like I hardly know who I _am_ anymore! I'm not who I thought."

"Oh, _stop it,_ " Caitlin snapped, her hard tone making Felicity jump. "Stop it, now. You've got enough problems, don't make them worse than they are. Sit up straight," she commanded, and Felicity obediently straightened, sliding her feet to the floor. "You need to value yourself for what you are. The only thing you genuinely like about yourself is how smart you are, but even _that's_ not about you in your head."

"I like myself," Felicity said defensively, smearing at the mascara-y streaks on her face with her tissue.

Caitlin gave her a look.

"I like my fashion, my sense of humor, how compassionate I am, how friendly I am…"

"Okay, _good._ But you honestly think you can like yourself if you don't think you're _worth_ being liked? How can you be enough for someone else if you're not good enough for _yourself?_ "

"This really isn't about Oliver and if I'm worth him," she sighed.

"I wasn't talking about Oliver! I was talking about your family, the guys allegedly refusing to date you, all of it. Felicity, if you honestly believe you're _good enough_ , then you will be."

Felicity looked away from Caitlin's soft tone, hating how it ground against her skin. _Not good enough for herself._ It sounded uncannily true.

"But I…" The protest died before it fully left her mouth. She thought back the discussion with her mother. Felicity's quiet pleas and reprimands had been so useless as she asked that Donna treat her better. Maybe Donna's determination to look at her daughter's lopsided match and assume something was wrong was due to Felicity's inability to convince even herself. She sucked in a breath.

She had been demanding fairness from her mother even when unconvinced of it herself. Ugly murmurs of _she's right_ had filled her head, previously unnoticed because Felicity had been entertaining them for so long. Hadn't the _exact same thing_ filled her head when she met Oliver? Hadn't she been immediately thought that her plan was even more hopeless because she had been convinced there was no way people could believe she would have attracted someone as handsome as him?

Her words had rung hollow because Felicity had always believed Oliver would never pick her of his own volition. In her mind he _hadn't,_ he was forced into it out of pity or a need of money or whatever. Felicity had just resented her mother actually saying it out loud.

She bit her lips, holding back a sob. Her life was a mess that she had passed off for happiness.

"How do I fix it?" she asked Caitlin. "How do I…how do I… _like_ myself?"

Just saying the words out loud hurt.

"I don't know," Caitlin murmured, squeezing her shoulders. "I don't know what will work for you. But I can give suggestions."

"Okay," she whispered, broken down and weary and _needing help._ "Okay, tell them to me."

"You…should try to think about what's _good_ about yourself and why. Write one down every day, or something. And don't _devalue_ it. If it's good in someone else, it's good in you. And the things you don't like…think about why you don't like then and then try to change them. And, your family…" Caitlin paused, and the silence made Felicity look at her. "They're your _family,_ yeah, but not the people running your life. If what they want doesn't make _you_ happy, _screw them."_

Felicity blinked at hearing the words come out of Caitlin's mouth. But they had the starkness she had needed. Felicity felt terrified of the idea of saying no, but also…attracted to it.

"So what am I doing wrong now?" she asked. "It's not like I feel like I _need_ a boyfriend, like they say."

"But you went out and bought one anyway to avoid confessing your lie," Caitlin told her, kind in her honesty. Felicity gave a weak nod, half-understanding what she meant.

"You _know_ what you don't like, Felicity, now you need to be strong enough to fix it. You feel like you're not being honest with people, that you're hiding big, important things? Talk to them a little more. Obviously you can't spill _everything_ , but just…don't be afraid to say something serious if you want to."

Felicity nodded, exhausted as her tears slowed. Exhausted, but so, _so_ thankful Caitlin was there. She couldn't do this alone.

"What…what about Oliver?" she whispered, then bit her lip. This was what started it all, and now they had slowly cycled back to the beginning. Caitlin sighed and leaned back, considering.

"I…I'm not sure. You…" She stopped, looked away, and gathered her thoughts. "I think you need to really start fixing everything else before you launch into that."

"But I see him on Friday!" she said, suddenly panicked. This was _it,_ this was her chance to…do what? Play pretend one more time, then pay him and say goodbye? "I…I don't want to mess this up."

Caitlin watched her for a moment, then said, "You like him, really like him, it's not just his looks or the way he acts for your family?"

" _No,_ " she said, almost harsh in her insistence. "I told you, Oliver…it's not the perfect stuff that makes me like him, it's everything _else._ The way he holds or kisses my temple or whatever in front of my family…that's not what I care about. But it does put butterflies in my stomach at the thought of him doing it for real."

 _I could really love him,_ was what Felicity couldn't say, because she wasn't quite there yet. But she could be, if she had the chance.

Caitlin pulled Felicity into a tight hug, her breath ruffling her hair.

"I can't help you here," she told Felicity. "Everything _I_ know says this is a bad idea, but I also know you're smart and not about to do something dumb for someone who doesn't care, so just…be careful."

"Do you think I'm being dumb, though?"

"I can't say," she told her, leaning back. "I think you've got to figure that out on your own."

Felicity nodded, disappointed that Caitlin didn't have the answer she needed the most, but somehow unsurprised.

Felicity excused herself to clean off her face, and the two of them spent the rest of the evening drinking hot chocolate and watching beautiful and harmless nature documentaries. When it was time for Caitlin to leave, Felicity drove her to the airport. She got out of the car, engine still running, and pulled Caitlin into another hug.

"It'll be okay," Caitlin whispered into her hair, and Felicity almost broke into tears again. But she nodded, dragged in a breath, whispered out a thank you.

"Safe trip," she called after Caitlin with a wave. Caitlin smiled and nodded, then walked inside.

Felicity climbed into her car and drove home. She felt tired and shaky, but it was a good kind of exhaustion. It was a decision making kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I want people to take away from this story is that it is not An Oliver Story or A Felicity Story, but it is in equal parts An Oliver and Felicity Story. They are both integral to each other's development. They may not even be aware of the big changes they are causing/the other is experiencing, but they are both catalysts for the other and this is important.


	10. the value of supports

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank each and every one of you that commented on this last chapter. I enjoyed reading your thoughts as always, but I felt especially touched at hearing how deeply Felicity's struggles impacted you all. It's not only encouraging to see that you're confident enough to do this, but also delightful because you found my story to not only be honest but also helpful :)
> 
> ALSO WE ARE HALF WAY THROUGH.

 Oliver leaned back in his chair, smiling as Lyla expounded on one of her misadventures in private security.

"Frat boy's trying to schmooze his way out of the problem, trying to threaten me, saying crap like ' _Do you know who my father? Do you know?_ He knows the _governor!'_ Like…guy, you signed the contract. It said if you try to commit any felonies while in the presence of one of my people, they _will_ stop you. He's shot up with something, is trying to steal the _armored car_ to go buy Big Belly Burger. Obviously there will be problems."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Who else did he name drop?"

"Well, there was the governor, 'a guy who knows a senator'—cool, he knows a guy who knows a guy. I was in the army, I can say that about the _president,_ and it doesn't mean much—but he just kept going back to ' _Do you know who my father is?!'_ He probably would have cited Elvis Presley if he thought it would stop me from informing his parents."

"Tell me he tried to bribe you," Diggle said with a snort.

"He tried to bribe me!" Lyla said, throwing her hands up. Oliver scoffed, anticipating the unpleasant surprise this nameless rich kid had in store. "He didn't seem to understand the concept that more zeroes on his check wouldn't make this go away. I mean, I just want the kid to stop, and him buying me off isn't going to fix anything. If suing his ass is the way to do it, then fine."

Lyla, wise woman that she was, had invested in _very good_ lawyers. She had the fire power to go up to bat against her wealthy clients in a court room.

"He literally deflated when I mentioned going to his father. One word of that and he got angry, then he got scared. Geez, I thought he was going to burst into tears. What made him think he could do all of that, then swagger into my office with a wad of cash to make it all go away? He nearly put one of my men in the _hospital_." Lyla shook her head, and ate an exasperated bite of salad.

"Habit," Oliver said with a wry smile. "He's probably too desperate to not get in trouble with his parents to think straight."

"What does he have to fear, though?" Lyla asked, looking curiously at Oliver. "I mean, I get that a lot of rich kids are afraid of what their parents will do, but I don't get _why._ What's got rich kids running scared?"

"Depends," he sighed, settling back into his seat. "Usually worried about getting cut of, or being shipped off to the boonies to work on a farm, or something."

"You worked on a farm, didn't you?" she asked, tilting her head. "That bad?"

"No," he laughed, more a huff of air than anything. It had been difficult, thankless work, never ceasing, never resolving. But the pride of eating produce he had helped grow, or the tender moments found in holding a chick or hand feeding a calf had balanced it all out. It was his time out on that farm that had made something soft in Oliver, perhaps for the first time. "But I wanted to go, and had been working for a while before that. If he's been lounging by a pool and partying every night, it'll be a special brand of hell."

Lyla scoffed, shaking her head.

"I almost wish I could see Papa Warbucks rip Junior a new one. Hopefully, it'll be enough to make his stop."

Oliver toyed with his glass as the conversation hummed on. A gentle contentment settled over his as he listened to Diggle and Lyla. This was what he really liked about his life, the easy understanding between everyone. These people and these walls had seen Oliver at his best and worst and welcomed him back all the same.

"Hey, Oliver, help me clear the table?" Lyla asked, easing her way out of her chair.

"No, you made the food, sit down."

" _Actually,_ it was John," she said. He should have guessed. They had eaten ribs, corn, and salad, comforting and low key as an August barbecue, even though it was the chilly beginnings of December. Oliver raised an eyebrow at Diggle, who looked smug as he leaned back into his chair.

"I do more than run after rich brats," Diggle informed him. Oliver rolled his eyes and took Diggle's plate.

"How've things been in your world?" Lyla asked as he entered the kitchen. She was clearing the remnants of food from her plate.

"They're good," he said, setting the plates down next to the sink. He noted the neat line of Diggle's succulent garden. They were cute, short things in small terra cotta pots, ranging from soft green to tinged slightly purple. He wondered which ones were hens and chicks, Lyla's alleged favorite.

"How's the double backflip coming?"

"Alright. I've actually been working on trying to climb a rope with just my arms."

"I'm sensing a dare," she said, casting him a knowing look. He shrugged, handing her dishes to put in the dishwasher.

"Totally was. Guy from Brooklyn bet he couldn't do it in a week and a half," Diggle said, swinging through the kitchen, loaded down with food and clearly ignoring the edicts about cooks and cleaning up. Lyla laughed and nodded.

"And how's the archery coming?"

"Good. My trainer's having me shoot tennis balls from the air."

"And you can get all of them?"

"We're up to five at a time," he said offhandedly, not sure what to do with the pride in her eyes. But then she saved him, turning her voice teasing.

" _Someday_ you're going to enter a competition and let me see you actually shoot. Until then, I'm gently disbelieving some of your claims."

Oliver let out a laugh as he cleared another plate. He liked speaking with Lyla. She was one of the blessedly few people who _knew_ him, knew who he was, where he had come from, what he was doing. She saw all of it without being tainted by the mistakes of Oliver Queen. She hadn't met him when he was spoiled and lazy and shockingly adrift in his selfishness, nor had she seen the shambled wreck directly after the _Gambit_ had gone down and he struggled with the sensation of drowning, days and days after that bleary night. She had met Oliver, humbled and weary, using his own damaged hands to make something precious of his life. Lyla had never looked back to what he had been, just urged him forward.

Diggle came back into the kitchen and place the drink containers in the fridge.

"Oliver, what weekend is your next job?" he asked, glancing at Oliver over his shoulder. "I don't know if we can come over before Christmas."

"The twelfth."

"Okay," Diggle said, bobbing his head. Lyla turned around at the mention of Oliver's work, eyes curious.

"Is this the Hanukkah thing?"

"Yes," he said, keeping his tone easy and refusing to glance at Diggle. They hadn't mentioned it since their disagreement at the gym, but it had stayed a quiet, bitter snag at the back of Oliver's mind. The idea that Oliver was desperate for income was unwelcome, because he was a little more in charge of himself than that. And, of course, there was the grating insinuation that Oliver was losing himself in the haze of money and perfume and martinis, when really…that was the _last_ thing happening. Oliver hadn't mentioned this discomforting twist of self-doubt to Diggle, unsure how to anticipate the helpless disquiet in his stomach and unwilling to have Diggle pick it apart and put names to all of the things Oliver was so carefully stuffing away.

"So, explain this thing to me," Lyla said, leaning against the counter. "She hired you to be her _boyfriend?"_

"Yes," he laughed. "Her family...drove her to an extreme."

"But…how does that even work? How much of a boyfriend are you pretending to be?"

"It's pretty simple," Oliver said with a shrug. "We meet, go to her aunt's house where the rest of her family is, and I just…act like we've been seeing each other for months."

It honestly wasn't hard. Part of the reason why Oliver had been so drawn to the job had been because it was easy, forgiving work. He sat, talked with her family and only had to behave like a decent human being. There was no customizing, no needy requirements to make his clients look better, no treating him like a tool that could be ordered and used at will. Felicity just asked him to help her, allowing Oliver the chance to see the better part of himself he had been searching for.

"So how's that different from your other jobs?" Lyla asked. Diggle had finished in the kitchen and was now standing by her, watching Oliver with steady eyes.

"She's not…looking for anything special. It's just a job, but she's kind about it."

Oliver shrugged, unsure how to express the nuances. Felicity paid him, he made small talk, made her look good, ate, and was over all pleasant. Other women paid him, he made small talk, made them look good, ate, and was over all pleasant. But there was something _different,_ a candor that didn't exist when a woman normally asked for his services. It was in the way Felicity asked about his day or seemed worried that she was inconveniencing him with her job offers or how the last thing she expected or needed was for him to sleep with her.

But he had _slept_ with her. The memory of her bloomed in his chest, pressed so sweetly against his back, legs practically tangled in his, arm thrown over his ribs, tucking him even close to her. It was lovely in its lack of expectations.

The wash of warmth going through his stomach made Oliver want to smile, but then he felt panic and backed away into the safety of a new conversation topic.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Queen, this place is going to be _amazing,_ " Tommy said, enthusiasm barely diminished over the phone. Oliver smiled at the thought of his friend's face, glad to hear that all of his hard work was coming to fruition.

"How long until the club opens?"

"A month. I'm hoping to offer a pick-me-up from the January blues."

"It sounds great. I'm sure it'll be awesome, you've put a lot of effort into this."

" _Oliver,_ " Tommy sighed, like he just didn't know how many more times he could say this, "you _are_ kinda one of the big influence in this. Take credit for your half child."

Oliver snorted as he placed his white clothes in the washer. They had first discussed the club idea over _three years_ ago. Tommy had idly brought up the potential of a club in the grittier parts of town that didn't make a person risk getting herpes by walking through the front door. Oliver had spent a lot of time in the Glades before he left Starling, and his observations over the lack of entertainment in those neighborhoods had planted an unexpected seed in his friend. Oliver had honestly forgotten about the conversation until Tommy brought it up again. After that, Tommy had become more and more excited, discussing locations, staff, suppliers, colors schemes. Oliver had entertained the idea, liking how he could talk to Tommy without that awful layer of tension that came from the questions beating at his best friend's lips that he would not allow himself to ask.

Once Oliver realized that this wasn't simply an indulgent daydream, he had backed it whole-heartedly. He couldn't pay for anything, or sway anyone important, or even advise on the music, but he offered advice on what brands people liked, what made a good employee, where in the Glades a club run by a rich kid could be seen as fun and not an easy mark. They were negligible facts, but he cherished the way Tommy sighed out a thank you each time, like Oliver had been some unwarranted saving grace.

"Will you be in town then?" Tommy asked casually, like Oliver might have been planning a vacation and not running to another state entirely. Oliver leaned against the front of the washer, holding back his sigh.

"I _think_ so…" he said, making his voice vague enough to offer some wiggle room later.

"Then I formally invite you to the grand opening," Tommy chirped. He could cut through no man's land like no one else. "I'm telling you, _amazing._ You've gotta see it, Oliver, _come on._ "

"I'm sure it'll be great," he said, straightening and fishing quarters out for the washer.

"Thea'll be there."

" _What?_ " Oliver froze, wondering first _why_ Tommy was allowing this, then why he thought it a good idea to tell him.

"Don't worry, she wants to see what I've been doing. Gonna make a date of it with her boyfriend or something. They'll card her at the bar, relax."

"The _bar_ isn't the only thing I'm worried about," Oliver grumbled, stabbing quarters into the machine. He knew the club circuits only too well. _Anything_ could happen on a dancefloor.

"You know she's straight edge," Tommy said, almost flippantly. "She's a lot smarter than we were."

Oliver pursed his lips. Tommy had a point, but that was in no way the happy accident he made it out to be. Thea had seen the wreckage of Oliver's life before and after the accident. First it had been the embarrassing mess he had of his frivolous entertainment, but then it was his attempts to wash all of his pain away with agonizing failure. And she had read his blunt accounts of how partying wasn't _really_ colored lights and a good time, but waking up naked, not remembering the night before, and having to get rid of the illegal drugs and call home while a little stoned and hung over. Oliver felt certain his guidance had helped, but still. Thea was _barely_ eighteen, and that was around the time Oliver had started making _really_ stupid decisions. He didn't care how good she had been, or how closely Tommy watched her, or even how hard core Thea's Glades boyfriend was, they couldn't guard themselves against all the dangers of a club.

Oliver turned on the washing machine, checking back into what Tommy was saying.

"…it'll be fine. Hey, look at it as added incentive to come, watch out for baby sister."

"That's low, Tommy. And…I don't know," he said with a grimace. The moment there was a genuine Oliver Queen sighting was the moment the media and his life would explode. He had gotten away with being in Starling this long was because he looked _completely_ unlike the Oliver Queen of five years ago, not to mention having his mother's lie that he was running around Europe making bad choices and pursuing supermodels. Once a current picture got out, though, he would have to quit his job and go to ground once more. Not to mention deal with how Moira would react at him appearing at Tommy's club before her front step. Oliver wanted to _change_ things, not be pushed back into more of the same.

"Come _on,_ Oliver, this is _ours,"_ Tommy said, wheedling and hopeful and without any guile. "You've _gotta_ come, you helped me pick out the _name."_

Oliver broke into a reluctant smile. He had been living in Tucson at the time, miserable in the swathe of heat, beige, and dust. Suggesting the name ' _Verdant_ ' had been a self-indulgent wish for a change of scenery. He hadn't actually expected Tommy to go with it.

"I don't know," he insisted, but in a lighter tone than before. "I'll think about it. Laurel's coming, right?"

"Yeah, managed to carve out a free night. Probably because I had to make a reservation months in advance," he joked, but Oliver heard the honest pride in his voice. Tommy had started dating Laurel about a year before, after repeatedly having sought and received Oliver's blessing. If he had to say, though, Oliver thought the quadruple checking was more a sign of nerves than worry Oliver was possessive of his ex-girlfriend.

"And your dad?" Oliver asked carefully. Tommy's sigh from the other end of the phone said more than enough.

"I don't know. I told him about it, told his assistant, too, but…"

"He's not exactly been supportive," Oliver finished. The only time he had heard Tommy truly doubt the plan was after talking to his father. He had called Oliver, anxious and downtrodden, flooding him with panicked lines about _reputation,_ and _responsibility_ and a _ridiculous idea tempting an addict._ There was nothing so heartbreaking as hearing Malcolm Merlyn through the intimidated filter of his son.

"Laurel thinks I can do it," Tommy had finally whispered, as though afraid to let Oliver see how much he wanted this, not to mention how much he valued Laurel's opinion.

"She's always been the smarter of the three of us," Oliver had told him, and he could almost see Tommy relaxing on the other end of the phone.

Tommy had whispered, "What do you think?", nervous and hopeful and scared. Oliver knew that it would only take one sentence from him to turned his friend either way.

"I think you'll make it great."

Tommy cleared his throat, as if chasing the memories of his father's disapproval from his head.

"Yeah, well, I'm not doing it for him. But just…try to come. Please."

"I'll see," Oliver said, and this time, he really meant it.

Oliver left his laundry basket on the washer, climbing the stairs to his apartment as he hung up with Tommy. He shouldered open the door, then kicked it closed behind him. He laid down on the futon and stared at the ceiling.

He missed Tommy. The way he could make anything seem manageable with a joke and a slap on the back was something Oliver had craved in the last five years. But Tommy had respected Oliver's request for solitude and hadn't broached the topic since. Except for today. Tommy's invitation to the club opening had been yet another quiet plea to come home.

Felicity's words from the week before were bouncing around his head, snuggling up to Tommy's offer.

_I think you should try to patch things up with them, if that's what you want._

He _did_ want to. He wanted to go to Verdant and congratulate Tommy on his success, wanted to see Thea and finally meet this Roy Harper she was dating. He wanted to go home and hug his mother and tell her he had forgiven her long ago. But there was enough reluctance twisting his stomach to make him hesitate, always, always, always.

He sat up with a sigh. Oliver walked to his kitchen, hand dragging along the mortar between the bricks. He pulled a cup from the shelf and poured himself a glass of milk.

He had been thinking about this for a long time, the possibilities chasing themselves around and around in his head. All he could see was what he had done in the past, the stacks of mistakes that constituted the two sides of his life. How was he supposed to find a different, third option?

Oliver carried his cup back to the futon. It had been a long day. It had started early with his neighbor down the hall hammering on his door, babbling about dysfunctional piping and _you worked as a plumber before right please help._ Oliver had groaned and gone to see what the problem was, and only emerged over an hour later, wet and a little grumpy, but paid off with the promise of homemade dinner and his choice of dessert. After that, he'd gone to the gym, had lunch, run some errands, then rounded the day off with laundry. And he still had to review some of the business offers that had come in, which he had shockingly little desire to do.

Oliver closed his eyes. He had forty minutes until his load was finished. He could take a nap.

His phone buzzed, earning a heavy sigh. It was just one of those days. He propped himself onto his elbow as he checked the ID, surprised to find it was Felicity.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Oliver, it's Felicity."

"Hey," he said, laying back down.

"Hey. I'm calling to hammer out the details of Hanukkah. I just realized that we never did it last week, and my friend was in town yesterday so I totally forgot. So, yeah, here I am."

"Alright. What were you thinking?"

"Well, I wanted to get on the road as soon as possible, so I was wondering if you would meet me at my apartment? Things are going to be hectic at work, so I might be staying late, and then with rush hour and everything…"

"That's fine," he said. He wondered what kind of apartment Felicity Smoak had made her home. He guessed it had a lot of plants and natural light.

" _Really?_ Oh, thank goodness. I was kind of worried that I'd be driving out on the icy roads late at night."

Oliver switched to speaker as she spoke, and opened up his calendar to put the information in.

"No, it's...that's okay. Where do you live?" he asked. He had changed what he was going to say. The words _'it's fine_ ' had been primed on his tongue, but Felicity's observation by the swing had made him change at the last second. He pushed the thought away as Felicity's listed off her address.

"What time should I be over?"

"Uhm…how about five fifteen, just to be safe?"

"I can do that."

"Okay. I might still be getting ready then, but we should be able to skedaddle pretty soon after you're there."

Oliver nodded to himself, then hesitated. "For Hanukkah...will there be any traditions I need to observe?"

"Hm? Oh, no. We won't be there for them to light the menorah, since it needs to be done before dark. But really other than that, listen to some songs, play dreidel with the kids, and eat latkes. All of the religious traditions and ceremonies and things will probably be over by the time we get there. But don't forget that we're sleeping over! We'll leave around Saturday afternoon."

"Alright. Then…I will see you on Friday."

"Okay. See you then," she said. Oliver titled his head, noticing the way her voice had turned very soft.

"Goodbye," he told her.

"Goodbye, Oliver," she almost whispered, then hung up.

* * *

Oliver climbed the steps to Felicity's apartment at five twelve on Friday. Her neighborhood was cute, with lots of trees and a warm, fresh feeling to the place. Very different from the cool efficiency of his own neighborhood, full of renovated industrial buildings and hard brickwork.

He knocked on her door, the cold impact making his knuckles sting.

"Coming!" Felicity called, and a moment later the door was pulled open. "Oliver, hi! Come in." She moved back for him enter, and Oliver stepped inside.

Like he had guessed, Felicity's apartment was welcoming and bright. The walls were a pale green, but a few were painted dark blue for accents. Her decorations were simple and charming, clean with bright colors. A string of purple and white Christmas lights wrapped around the tops of the wall. On the window sill was an unlit menorah, waiting patiently to let out its welcoming light.

"Hold on, I'm almost ready," she said, retreating to the hall. "I just need to grab some stuff and then we can go."

Oliver waited in her living room, eyes sliding over the decorations. The desk tucked into the alcove next to the door was covered in stacks of papers, paper weights, and a couple of pictures. He moved over the photograph of her and her mother and settled on a picture of just Felicity. He guessed she was a teenager, with a light smattering of freckles and brown hair tugged back into a messy ponytail. She was beaming at the camera, proffering a tiny potted cactus. He smiled and set the photograph back down.

Felicity reappeared a few moments later, hopping slightly as she tugged on a pair of flats. She was dressed differently than normal. For one thing, she was wearing a pair of bright red pants and a pair of flats, rather than her typical dress and heels. Her hair was down and she was wearing a trendy grey sweatshirt with an old fashioned Mickey Mouse on the front. Topping it all off were a black beanie, a backpack, and a bright yellow clutch. She still looked as put together as usual, but…less tightly bound. Felicity didn't look like she was ready to stalk the streets of downtown on her way to work, she looked like she was actually going to see family.

"Ready?" he asked, and she nodded, scanning the room for anything she might have forgotten.

"…Yep," she said, nodding to herself. "Let's go!"

They walked down to her car, the fresh dusting of snow crunching slightly under their shoes. Felicity walked fast, her pullover not quite cutting it in the chill. Oliver settled into his navy pea coat, feeling a little self-conscious.

"You can toss your bag in the back," she said, nodding at the messenger bag he had slung over his shoulder. He put his bag into the back seat next to her backpack, and then climbed in. Felicity let the engine warm up a moment, then turned the heater on full blast. She adjusted the radio and pulled into the road.

The street lights were cheery as they went through the heart of the city, the giant silhouettes of bells and snowflakes mounted onto the light poles. Everything looked perfect with the freshly fallen snow, carolers on street corners, and Christmas displays in store windows.

And yet he was going off to celebrate Hanukkah with someone he was beginning to realize he really wanted to know. Oliver glanced at Felicity as her eyes focused on the road. He was strangely thankful that he was allowed to experience this with Felicity and her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oliver queen you emotionally ignorant ray of sunshine


	11. it's all fun and games, but not really

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it this is where i become complete rom-com trope trash.
> 
> i hope you're happy

 

Oliver and Felicity settled into silence as they eased their way away from the city. She kept glancing at him in the dark, wondering if he could see the revelation of the past few days in her face. She felt embarrassed by it all ( _admitting her weakness,_ that ugly part of her said), but she had listened to Caitlin's advice. She had reminded herself of all of the good things about herself, told herself to relax and not fret so much. Calling Oliver had been a true test of will, because it had gone from simply calling him to verify information to her sitting on her couch, staring at her phone, heart beating fast enough to make her feel lightheaded because she was going to call Oliver and she didn't want to sound like an idiot she normally sounded like an idiot _why the hell couldn't she just not like him it was easier not liking him._

Felicity had finally been able to call him, and in way of a new Hanukkah miracle, she had made it through without mortifying herself. The idea of having him in her apartment had been equally thrilling and terrifying. She maybe had spent the night cleaning up so that it wasn't a sty when he walked in the next day. But things had gone off without a hitch and they were now on their way to Gina's house.

She let out a slow breath. She had been tense all afternoon at the thought of seeing him again. But she thought it was a good step that she had been able to force herself into the practicality of pants and flats, rather than the show off-y pretty lady dress and heels she had previously worn around him. She wondered if Oliver had noticed, then shook herself. Tonight wasn't about impressing either him or her family. It was about celebrating an important holiday, going to see family, and not wondering if she was being judged every futzing second.

She just hoped she could that mantra up for the rest of the night.

They made small talk, Felicity describing her day at work and Oliver mentioning that he would be going to spend Christmas with his friend. The worry making it difficult for Felicity to breathe loosened as they drove deeper into the suburbs. The snow was pretty as it danced past the windows, the flakes fatter than they had been in the city. Oliver's conversation was that same soft, candid sort it had been last week before they had fallen asleep. Felicity let out a breath.

In all, Felicity supposed she handled the car charging her head on fairly well. As the lights came closer, she realized the oncoming car was skittering into their lane in messy swoops. By the time she had mentioned something to Oliver, the car had veered in front of her with alarming speed. Felicity hissed out a shriek, stomped on the brakes, and strong armed her car out of the way. Everything felt like a blur as her car jolted off the highway and then crashed into a snow bank.

Felicity stared ahead of her, eyes wide, hands locked around the steering wheel. She glanced at Oliver, who had braced himself against his armrest and door.

"Are you okay?" he asked, checking her over in the muted light of her headlights filtering through the snow. She dragged in a breath, unable to think for a moment. "Felicity? _Are you alright?"_

" _Asshole!"_ she spat, still staring into the snow.

"What?" Oliver stared at her, a little alarmed.

" _Asshole,"_ she repeated, letting go of her steering wheel and whipping her head around to stare after the receding lights of the other car. "That _asshole_ just ran me off the road!"

"But you're okay, though?" Oliver asked, letting out a relieved breath. Clearly he thought so, if she could start swearing at the other driver.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just— _oh my gosh,_ that just happened to me!" She turned back to the snowbank, not quite believing it was there. She huffed out a breath and looked over at Oliver. She flicked on the light to examine him. "You're okay, too? Didn't hit your head or anything?"

"No, I'm okay," he said, but she saw the careful way he adjusted his seatbelt, like it had dug into his shoulder and neck on impact. Her own neck hurt a little from the jerk of slamming into the snowbank, but the worst of the damage had been negated by her slowing down before going off the road.

Felicity let out a slow, slow sigh. "That could have been…really bad."

She took a few more seconds for her heart to slow down, then turned off the light.

"Okay, now that we've got that out of the way…" she said, because the moment she gave the past minute proper consideration was the moment she utterly and completely freaked out.

Felicity gently tried to back out, and the car obligingly moved a few inches, then stayed still. She frowned, pressing the pedal a little harder, listening to the engine hum, but still nothing. She pulled her foot away and the car rolled back to its previous resting place.

" _No,"_ she whispered, trying yet again. It wasn't like they were on a steep incline or anything, there was no reason why her beautiful, strong, independent little Mini couldn't kick this ditch's ass.

The car eased back a few inches and then slid back as the tires didn't find purchase.

" _Noooooo,_ " she moaned, hands clenching around the wheel again. " _No no no no no no no no pleeeeeeeeease do not be stuck."_

The car was stuck.

"Un-freaking-believable," she said, letting her head flop back against the rest. Her cheeks went hot from frustration or embarrassment or muted anger at the drunk, blind, vehicle-operating-illiterate moron that couldn't stay in his lane. All she wanted was to go to her aunt's house with this guy that she liked to celebrate Hanukkah.

"Let's go see," she sighed, unbuckling and opening her door. "Oliver, could you get the flashlight from the glove compartment?"

They got out of the car, and Felicity flinched instinctively from the cold. They walked to the back, Oliver turning the flashlight so they could see the back wheels. It looked like the snow had been compacted into a solid sheet where they had slid off the road, offering nothing for the tires to grab ahold of. She grimaced, brain sorting through their options.

"I don't think we can break this into something the tires can drive on," she sighed, rocking back on her heels.

"Do you have chains? Maybe we can move the car back onto them to get out."

" _No,_ because Starling _never_ gets enough snow to warrant them," she said derisively, then put her head in her hand. "This is so _stupid._ "

Felicity stalked to the snowbank to investigate the damage done to the front of her car. Light filtered through the snow, just enough to see by. From the little not hidden in snow it wasn't _too_ bad, though she suspected a serious dent to her bumper.

"You _corkscrew penis,"_ Felicity snarled, lashing out her foot to kick the snowbank.

This was so _stupid._ Why did she have to be driven off the road by some drunken idiot? Why couldn't _they_ have veered off into the snow, taken themselves out of commission and left every other capable person around them safe and sound?

"I'm a _what?_ " Oliver asked, voice strangely calm in this hellacious situation.

"What?" Felicity asked, jerking around to face him over the hood of her car. Oh no. She had _not_ just said that out loud. "Oh gosh, no, not you. I was…that guy," she explained dumbly, heat crawling up her neck.

" _What'd_ you call him?"

"A…uh, corkscrew…penis," she said, voice trailing away into a mumble. Oliver looked like he was torn between being confused and impressed.

"Why…?"

"It's something I picked up from my old roommate," she explained, running a hand over her face. "She loved watching these nature documentaries, picked up all sorts of stuff."

Sara had had an astonishing store of strange animal facts, starting with the generic things like certain fish being born one gender, but changing to suit the mating climate ( _"_ Nemo's dad was turning into a woman the entire movie Felicity _think about that."_ ), to spicier things.

"She would just spout off stuff like…male ducks having corkscrew penises."

"Why?"

"Because she liked watching me squirm," Felicity said with a rueful smile.

"No, the ducks, why do the males…?"

"Oh, because the females have corkscrew vaginas."

Felicity closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the edge of her car. She was _not_ talking about bird genitalia with Oliver after having crashed into a snowbank. No, no she was not. If she raised her head right now, they would be talking about something _not_ hideously awkward, like how lucky they were for not having crashed and died, or how nice it would be to get in the car and drive away. They weren't doing this they weren't doing this they weren't.

To her surprise, Oliver let out a small laugh. She lifted her face enough to peek at him.

"I had a friend that would do that," he said. "She would resort to random, awkward facts like that to get the conversation moving."

Felicity watched him with a slight smile on her face, thinking that she really needed this friend at the moment, if only to divert Oliver's attention from her lapse in conversational etiquette.

"I'm going to call my uncle," she told him, hoping to redirect their current discussion as fast as possible. She opened the door and grabbed her phone. It had two bars, though one flickered in and out of existence. She chewed on her cheek. "Do you have reception?"

"…Yeah," he said after consulting his phone. "Two solid bars."

"Okay. Can I use it?"

Oliver handed it to her over the car, silently waiting for results. She entered in Michael's cell number, shifting against the cold as she waited.

" _Yello,"_ Michael said, and Felicity felt her whole body sigh in relief.

"Hey, Uncle Mike," she said, turning her back against the sound of the cars whizzing by behind her.

"Hey, Felicity. What number are you calling from?"

"I'm using Oliver's phone, he's got better reception."

"Okay. What's up? Did you guys have trouble getting off?"

"No," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "No, but we got ran off the road."

"…Are you okay?" he asked, using that serious calm tone that must have been mastered by every parent other than her own.

"Yes, we're fine, really. A little shaken up, but we're both okay," Felicity told him, glancing over at Oliver. He watched her, face intent, whole body still as he listened. " _But,_ my car crashed into a snowbank and we can't back out."

"This stupid cold snap,"he said concern drawing uncharacteristic grumbling from his lips. "It's been snowing all week, hasn't let up for more than a day. Did the snowbank mess up your car?"

"I think the bumper's a little jacked up, but nothing serious. I think my nerves are more shot than anything."

"Alright. Where are you? You guys are okay, though, right?"

"Yeah, we're okay. We're about…twenty, twenty-five minutes away."

"Alright," he repeated, and she could see him nodding, planning out a way to help them. "You two stay in your car and stay warm. I'll be there in a little bit."

"Okay. Thank you, Uncle Mike."

"It's fine. I'm just glad you two are safe. See you soon."

Felicity hung up and handed the phone back to Oliver over the car.

"He's coming to help us out. He said he'd be about twenty minutes."

Oliver nodded, expression still serious. She climbed back into the car, breathing on her fingers to warm them up. Her face was cold and bits of snow had melted into her shoe from where she had had her mini temper tantrum and kicked the bank. Getting out seemed like a much worse idea now that she had actually done it.

Oliver opened his door to get in, but hesitated. She looked at him, bending down in his doorway to see her. She waited for him to speak, biting back comments of how the hot air was rushing out the door.

"If we're going to be here for twenty minutes…could we sit in the back?" She frowned at him, confused by his request. "That way we…can stretch our legs?"

She blinked, glanced at his long legs, then nodded.

"Uhm, yeah, sure. I've actually got a blanket in the back," she said, once more climbing out of the car and hopping into the back seat. Oliver sat beside her, hand hesitating over their bags.

"If you're cold…" he began vaguely, and Felicity blinked at him a moment before realizing what he was suggesting. They would warm up faster if they sat together. She nodded mutely, heart speeding up again at the thought of sitting next to him, which was _stupid_ because they would be doing that all night anyway. But not alone. Not with a blanket wrapped around them. Not for the charmingly chivalrous reason of warming her up.

Felicity helped him move the bags to the floor, then scooted over to sit beside him. She settled into his side as he unbuttoned his coat, letting loose some of his trapped heat. He propped his feet up on the front arm rest, and after a moment she rested her legs on top of his. He reached behind her to grab the blanket from her back window, then spread it across the two of them. Oliver left his arm wrapped around her shoulders when he was done.

Felicity let out a breath as she relaxed into him. There was that gentle scent again, that wonderful mix of fabric softener and something crisp hanging close to his skin. Felicity resisted the urge to kick off her shoes and bury her face into his chest.

_Calm down, Felicity, this is just to warm up, this is just to warm up, this is just to warm up._

"It'll be okay," Oliver said after a pause. He didn't look at her as he spoke, eyes focusing on the window instead.

"Yeah, I know," she mumbled, mouth half-hidden behind the blanket. It was a big, polar fleece thing, just what she wanted to wrap herself up in after so much stress. "It would have been nicer if it hadn't happened, though."

Oliver let out a dark chuckle and shook his head.

"Isn't that the truth," he said. He didn't seem to be talking about the crash.

Felicity huffed out a breath, staring at the ceiling. "What…do you want to do while we wait? I have some games on my phone, but they're mostly single player and I don't think I can sit through a game of Scrabble right now."

"No," Oliver agreed, and his smile turned a little lighter.

"We could play a game, though."

"Like what?"

"I Spy," she said, unable to smother her smile.

"I spy something white," he said. His tone was almost serious as he stared at the snow eating the front of her car. Felicity snorted, not even bothering to guess.

"Uhm…Truth or Dare's always a fun one, or Truth or Truth."

"Truth or Truth?"

"Yeah," she said, face heating up again. The last time they had been honest with each other it had resulted in some very uncomfortable thoughts on her part. She felt the reluctance to continue from before, but she swallowed and explained the game. "It's like Truth or Dare, obviously, but it's with different kinds of truths. You know, there's truth, like 'what's your favorite soda?', 'who did you have a crush on in elementary school?', stuff like that, and then there's _Truth,_ capital T, which is bigger stuff, like 'have you ever stolen something from someone else?', or 'what have you not let yourself do because you're scared?' It can be kind of a deep game, if you're playing it right."

"So a big truth would be 'if you could do anything, what would it be?'" Oliver asked, looking down at her.

Felicity stared into his face, his somber blue eyes lit by the passing headlights. She nodded, unable to manage words. She didn't know if it was because Oliver's face was so close or if it was because they had already been playing this game for a long, long time.

"There are other games," she said after a pause. "I'm just giving some options."

"No," he said, hesitating for the barest moment, "we can play that."

"Okay, okay, that's…yeah, okay. Do you…want to go first?"

"I'll ask," he said, then was silent for a moment. Felicity rested her head against his chest, trying to even out her breathing as she waited. She closed her eyes, biting down her nerves, telling the chatter in her head to be quiet.

"Truth or truth?" he asked carefully, like he was shaping the words with a care meant only for her.

"Let's start of easy with a little T," she said. Oliver considered, his chest shifting with each breath, his heart barely audible if she tilted her head just right.

"What was your first pet?"

"A rock," she smiled. "My mom's allergic to cats and dogs, and honestly I think we would have both killed anything we took home. At least with a rock I could give it a makeover any time I wanted."

Oliver gave a laugh, the sound rumbling around his ribs. Felicity let herself dwell on the sound for a moment before she asked her question.

"Truth or truth?"

"Little truth."

"Hm…favorite thing to do as a kid?"

"I liked running around the garden."

"I thought you didn't play much as a kid," she said, looking up at him.

"I wasn't _playing,"_ he said with a wry smile. "I was hiding from whoever was looking to bring me back inside."

Felicity let out a surprised laugh, imagining a ten year old Oliver crouching behind potted plants, snickering as he darted to a new hiding place. "That still sounds like a game."

"Not for the person looking for me."

She nodded, smile still stretching her face. There was a softer edge to the things they were telling each other this time, little, unimportant details that weren't incidental or forced out with closed eyes and tense pauses. They were gentle honesties that they wanted the other person to know.

"Truth or truth?" Oliver whispered.

"...Big truth."

"What…is one thing you want to do, but know you shouldn't?"

Felicity's mind staggered at the question, a few dozen things all pushing at each other to be released first. She closed her mouth, thinking.

"Meet my dad," she finally confessed, because that was safe and honest and not at all Oliver related. "I mean, he was around when I was young, but I don't really _know_ him. Sometimes I…I would like to have lunch with him once, just to see…" What had attracted her mother. What had made him leave. What had made Donna not follow after.

Oliver nodded like he heard everything she wasn't saying, understood the apprehension in her voice. "Do you think about him a lot?"

"Not really. But how can you not, right? I mean, it's my _dad._ "

Oliver probably felt the same way. His own father had died, Oliver's thoughts must have stumbled onto him from time to time. No matter what their relationship had been, no matter what had taken the man from Oliver's life, he had to have been there. That was how loss worked.

Oliver was quiet again, but it felt more somber than before. Felicity pursed her lips and quickly asked, "Truth or truth?"

"Little truth."

"Favorite piece of clothing?"

"That I have now?"

"Either have or had or want, really."

"…A pair of socks my sister gave me for my birthday. They were a joke, the thing she put in the box while she hid the real gift."

"What kind of socks?"

"Normal ones, but they have a dumb pattern. Dollar signs," he added. It was like he was squeezing that extra bit of information out, that one last drop of a delicious drink.

"What was the real gift?"

"Concert tickets. But I still have the socks."

Felicity nodded. That felt like bigger than any Truth she could have asked for.

"Big truth or little…those people are pulling off the road," Oliver said, shifting to look at something out of the window.

Felicity straightened, surprised at how much she had slumped into his side. Sure enough, a car had pulled onto the shoulder a few yards away from them, easing to a halt. They were coming from the direction of the city so it obviously wasn't her uncle, but it still made her stomach leap. A surge of gratitude went out to this unknown stranger that cared enough to check on the car in the snow bank.

"Here, roll down the window," she said, leaning over Oliver and trying to hit the switch. She watched someone get out of their car and walk toward them. The window slid down, letting in far too much cold air for Felicity's liking and making her flinch back into Oliver's heat.

"You guys okay there?" the person, a man, asked. He kept adjusting his ball cap as he spoke, surveying Felicity's car.

"Oh, we're fine," Felicity said, crawling forward a little more so he could see her. "We've already got someone coming to help us."

"You sure?" he asked, stopping a few feet away. "I mean, don't know how much I can do with what I've got in my car, but if you even need someone to stay with you…"

"No, thank you," she said, sending him a big smile that said she was genuinely touched. "We'll be fine."

"Well…okay, then," the man said, eyes still scanning the scene like he wanted to find something to help with anyway.

"Thank you for the offer," Felicity added, hoping that it would convince him further. He gave the bill of his hat one more tug then bobbed his head.

"Alright. You two be careful, now. Have a good night," he said, then turned back to his car.

"That was really nice of him," she noted, rolling up the window. She sat back down. Only, instead of returning to her seat like she expected she landed squarely on Oliver's lap.

" _Oh my gosh_ I'm so sorry," she said, lifting herself up and trying to maneuver her way back to his side. She hadn't realized she had moved forward so much and now her entire face was burning and she really had no idea how to get back to her seat without head butting Oliver or doing something else totally awful.

"Felicity, it's fine," he said, but she overrode him, shaking her head.

"No, no, I totally didn't meant to do that, I—"

" _Felicity,_ " he said, putting a hand on her arm. "It's fine."

She froze, still awkwardly propping herself into the air. "It…is?"

"Yes. It would…probably be more comfortable for you, anyway. And warmer."

She turned around to look at him in the dark, straining to make out his expression. From the little she could see it seemed almost exasperated, like Oliver just wanted her to stop making noise. But she still felt self-conscious, not ready to believe him.

"Are…you sure?" she asked, and he gave a pointed nod. "O…kay, then."

Felicity gingerly eased herself back onto his lap, shoving away any and all inappropriate thoughts and comments. She leaned her head against Oliver's shoulder, trying not to relax as he pulled the blanket back over them. It _was_ warmer, though she doubted _anything_ could be comfortable when she was so distinctly aware of him _right there._ It did not help in the slightest when Oliver settled his hands against her stomach, fingers interlaced. Felicity chewed on her cheek, too nervous to speak.

They were quiet for a few moments, then Oliver said, "Big T or little T?"

"Little T."

"What is something you're bad at?"

"Sewing," she said instantly. "I mean, I can hand sew a button back on or _maybe_ take up the hemline of a skirt if I Google it enough, but other than that…I'm buying whatever needs to be fixed."

Oliver laughed again, calming Felicity a little more. Apparently this really _was_ okay. She set her hands over his, thinking of a question.

"Big T," he said without prompting, which surprised Felicity. She paused, suddenly afraid to ask any of her candidates. She knew the level of trust he was placing in her, wanted to keep that going. If she asked the wrong question Felicity was certain it would snap back, leaving her with yet another one of his personas. The thought of being someone Oliver felt the need to _pretend_ around made her stomach clench. She wanted him to know that he didn't need to wear a mask to keep himself safe with her.

"Why do you travel so much?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light.

Oliver sucked in a breath, chest expanding against her back. She bit the inside of her lip, worried that had been the wrong question after all.

"I like traveling," he said simply. "As a kid, my family…we'd visit places, but I normally stayed in the hotel. Now, I like catching up, I like seeing the world that I missed."

Felicity nodded. It sounded charming when he framed it like that, like he took a bunch of fun-loving vacations. But Felicity felt certain that the world-weary person sitting in the car with her hadn't been going on vacation. He had been systematically uprooting himself, searching for a new home.

"Little T," she said.

"What is your favorite tv show?"

Felicity turned around to stare at him.

"How could you ask me that?" she asked, a little appalled. "I mean, that's like—that's like which _bone_ I like best."

Oliver raised an eyebrow, smiling in disbelief.

"You don't need tv shows to exist," he said, earning a hearty snort.

"I could give you a _list_ of my favorite tv shows, but other than that…"

"Favorite genres, then. Does that help?"

"A _little_. I like...smart comedies, court room dramas, and…genre mashups that _shouldn't_ work, but totally, totally do. Those are usually awesome."

"Alright," he said, like he was politely keeping his amusement in check. "Little truth, now."

"Favorite color?"

"Oh, hard one," he said absently, like he was really having to think about the answer. "Dark blue?"

"You wear that a lot," she agreed, plucking pointedly at his navy coat.

"Truth or truth?"

"Big T," she said, again feeling the squirm of nervousness in her stomach.

"Why did you hire me?"

Felicity closed her eyes as she heard the question again. Oliver had probably picked up her doubt poking holes in her credibility by the swing.

"Was it…really easier?"

"No," she admitted. "I did it because I…didn't want to let my family down. I wanted them to see I was at least _trying_ to fulfill their expectations. Truth or—truth or truth?"

"Little truth."

"Do you wish you had a car?"

"No. Truth or truth?"

"Big truth," Felicity whispered. The words were dragged out of her, complying in Oliver's wish to finish the subject, to ask his next question. She stared at the steering wheel, thankful that she wasn't looking at Oliver. If she had been, if looking into his face was even an option, she never would have been able to speak.

"Why, if you dislike having to fulfill their expectations so much, did you go so out of your way to do this?"

Felicity chewed over the answer, wanting to evade, to back out, to lie. But she owed herself this, and she owed Oliver this.

"I…I don't know it...I guess hurts, disappointing them. This time it was _stupid,_ I don't even know why I did it, other than being afraid of what they'd say. I mean, the whole _idea_ makes me mad," she said, voicing punching up in volume for a moment. "I don't need a _boyfriend_ to be happy or successful, that's not what life is! I don't need a boyfriend to be happy."

She just needed to stand up for herself. Still did, actually.

"I get that," Oliver said, and again Felicity felt a little off center. She expected someone to disagree with her, to politely but sternly tell her that this was _not_ how things were supposed to work. "You are the choices you make and the thoughts you think, not the people you're around."

"Yes," she whispered, feeling the difference of Oliver's words from her mothers' on her skin. " _Yes._ I want people to value me for what I think. I don't want to be seen as just the frothy blonde."

Her mother, she realized. She didn't want to be seen as her mother, 'fizzy' in more than one sense of the word. That thought made her feel guilty beyond belief. Her mother had worked two jobs, raised Felicity on her own, had fought for Felicity to realize her potential by pushing to get her into one of the best colleges in the nation, hadn't hesitated when she thought her daughter was in danger of heartache. There were _good things_ to be learned from Donna Smoak, all Felicity had to do was remember them.

Felicity sucked in a breath, trying to calm herself down. Her hands had gone from resting over Oliver's to holding them, squeezing around his fingers. She relaxed her grip but didn't let go.

"Truth or truth?"

"Big truth."

Felicity swallowed and let herself ask one of the questions she'd bitten back. "Why did you part on bad terms with your family?"

Oliver was quiet for a long time, long enough for her to think that maybe he was refusing to answer.

"It had to do with my father dying," he said finally, the quiet words startling Felicity. "After he died…my mother expected me to take on responsibilities that I…" He trailed off, and Felicity nodded.

"That you weren't ready for."

"That I didn't want," he told her, voice hard for a tiny moment. Then it mellowed back out as he continued. "She couldn't accept I wanted something else, so I…" This time when Oliver's voice died she didn't finish for him. Felicity waited for a long moment, gathering the nerve to ask her question.

"How old were you when he died?"

"Too young," he said. Felicity could hear the bitter smile in his voice.

They sat in another patch of silence, waiting for the other to speak. Felicity mulled over what had been said in the comforting dark of her car.

What had Oliver done in the time between meeting her in the café and leaving his family? Where had his travels fallen into place, Miami, Toronto, and then Starling again? Had he been an escort the entire time, or had he had other jobs and used his ability to fit any situation in full? What had brought Oliver Dearden to her door?

"Big truth or little truth?" Oliver finally asked.

"Big truth," she said, not daring to desecrate the moment with the easy way out.

"What was the most embarrassing moment you had as a kid?"

"Jumping out of my seat when I was nine or ten. I fell down, straight onto my butt. I was wearing a skirt," she told him, the words coming out immediately. No matter how awful her inappropriate rambles were, they had never managed to treat the room to a view of her underwear.

She thought she felt Oliver smile, but he didn't laugh.

"Truth or truth?" she asked. Oliver was quiet for another moment, thinking.

"Little truth."

Felicity considered her options, wondering where ' _would you let me kiss you?'_ fell on their biased scale.

But Felicity was saved from her decision by the flash of headlights as a car turned onto their shoulder. Felicity straightened, ready to reassure another do-gooder, then broke into a big smile.

"That's Michael's car!" she said, looking back at Oliver and squeezing his hands. He smiled at her, but he held onto her just a little bit longer than he needed to.

Felicity slipped out of Oliver's lap and opened the door.

"Hey!" she called, smiling as Michael got out of the car. Felicity was confused when she saw Gary get out of the passenger seat, until she remembered that his family had decided to join Gina's for Hanukkah.

"You guys alright?" Michael asked eyes roving from Felicity's face to over her shoulder. She felt Oliver's heat settle in behind her, holding her firm.

"We're good," he told Michael. "A little shaken up, but…we're good."

"Yeah, seems like a mess alright," Gary sighed, examining the front of her car. "But it's probably looks worse than anything."

Michael and Gary helped them free Felicity's car, producing sand, gravel, and shovels for the job. After a few minutes' hard work the Mini had been freed and reversed into a safer area. Michael gave Felicity a tight hug, whispering that she had done okay, she had done _okay._ Felicity hugged him back, only letting go when Gary magicked two thermoses of hot chocolate from the car.

"You two deserve something nice after all that," he said, giving them to Oliver and Felicity. She smiled at him, blinking back happy, stress relief tears and thinking her uncles were two of the best people in the world.

"Okay, you two, go on ahead," Michael said, opening his car door. "We've got to pull around, but we'll be right behind you."

"Alright," Felicity said.

She got back into her car, Oliver settling into his place beside her. He set his hand over hers as she took hold of the gearshift, making her glance up. Oliver didn't say anything, only looked into her face and nodded. Any trace of the tense bitterness that he had possessed when giving her those fragile truths had disappeared. His gaze was open and he had his head tilted down just enough to ensure he was looking up at her. Her stomach flipped and she gave him a slight smile.

Felicity backed the car up, giving herself enough room to pull onto the road. Felicity took a steadying breath and drove onto the highway. She went slow until she saw Michael's comforting headlights behind her, then adjusted to the proper speed. Felicity turned the radio back on, not quite ready to resume speaking with Oliver.

She felt nervous, unsure if this delicate moment would break. They had changed things. Somehow they had voluntarily stumbled into a new place where big truths and little truths fit together in peace.

"Finally," she breathed as they reached Gina's house. She turned off the car, resisted the urge to check the damage to her bumper, grabbed her backpack, and walked with Oliver to the house. It was only a short ways, but she reached out and took his hand, needing the reassurance. He gave it to her without a word.

They knocked on the front door as Michael and Gary pulled into the driveway. Felicity checked over her shoulder to watch them drive up, but then the door was yanked open and Gina was bear hugging them at the same time, one arm flung around each of their necks.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she sighed, then let them go. "When Michael said you were run off the road..."

" _Felicity!"_ someone half-shouted, and Felicity had time to flick her eyes over Gina's shoulder before her mother grabbed her into a hug that put Gina's to shame.

" _Mom?!"_ Felicity gasped, not entirely convinced that the woman nearly choking her was real. "Mom, what are you doing here?!"

"I decided to surprise you," she said, leaning away just enough for Felicity to see her face. "I was thinking it over and it made no sense for me to _not_ come down—"

"But—work," she said stupidly. "You can't just—what about your job?"

"I got the weekend off!" Donna said, beaming at her. "And now we get to spend Hanukkah together! I was so worried when you called to say you were in an accident, are you okay? Are you both okay?" she asked, finally looking at Oliver. He seemed a little alarmed at the flash of energy beside him, but he recovered quickly.

"We're both fine, Mrs. Smoak, we simply ran into a snowbank. Thank you for asking."

"Here, come in, it's _freezing_ ," she said, shooing them both inside so Gina could shut the door (it probably would have been warmer, Felicity thought through her shock, if Donna had decided to wear something that actually covered both her knees and her cleavage).

Felicity glanced up at Oliver, who seemed surprised but not as alarmed as she was. He needed to be. Ignoring all of Donna's anti-Oliver sentiments, Donna Smoak just so happened to be a human shaped hurricane, and they could only have so many near misses before she hit shore. Plus Oliver was no longer someone Felicity was paying to help her deal with her family anymore, now he was a boy that she really very much liked and now was concerned about being insulted or told too much by her tactless mother.

 _I want to go back to the snowbank,_ Felicity thought darkly, slipping off her shoes and shedding her hat next to Oliver. But he smiled as though to tell her they had already managed one crisis that night, they would handle another. She smiled back and then they joined her family in the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *chinhands*


	12. a touch so soft and sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is something I just want to drown myself in.
> 
> Also, I am about to go on vacation, so the next chapter won't come out as quickly as you're used to. It shouldn't, in theory, be later by more than a few days, but do be aware. Enjoy this chapter in the meantime :)

Oliver scanned the room, intrigued by what Hanukkah looked like. A menorah perched in the window, boldly showing off its light. A few discarded dreidels lay on the coffee table, as well as the wrappers of chocolate coins. The smell of oil hung in the air, which, Felicity had explained earlier, was due to the fried foods cooked in commemoration of the Hanukkah miracle. A plate of what he assumed were latkes sat on the end table, along with what looked like homemade kids had flocked around Oliver and Felicity, chattering concern and hellos and then getting distracted by something else immediately after.

"We don't really have a _meal_ planned," Gina said, leading them into the living room. "Normally we just snack on latkes and sufganyot. But if you want anything more substantial, we can rustle something up."

"I'm fine," Felicity said as they sat down, then glanced at Oliver.

"I'm good," he said, offering a smile.

They listened to the conversation, worn out by the car ride. Being run off the road hadn't bothered Oliver _too_ much, other than worrying over Felicity's safety (the noise she had made as she swerved away from the oncoming car had been more than a little alarming). Their game of Truth or Truth, however…

It had been exhausting maintaining that golden standard of honesty with Felicity, but also satisfying. He hadn't been able to see her face as they spoke, but he had felt every shift and shiver after she had moved to his lap. She had held her breath and sat stiff and sighed and relaxed in turn, reacting on tiny levels to the things they had shared. She had been nervous yet honest in a way he adored, coaxing the strength for truth from Oliver in turn. And he had been rewarded, he realized as they settled on the couch, far beyond what he could have hoped. Now that they had dusted off their trust and given it to each other, Felicity was _finally_ comfortable with his touch. She melted into him, both her hands wrapped around his. No questions were asked, no hesitations found, just her nuzzling into his shoulder and making his chest swell.

Oliver excused himself to get a drink from the kitchen a while later, leaving only after making sure Felicity didn't need anything. Gina was in the kitchen when he entered, reloading the plate of food.

"Oliver, hey," she said, glancing at him as he walked through the saloon doors.

"Hey. The glasses are in here, right?" he asked, pointing at a cabinet.

"Sure are. Drinks in the fridge are free game."

Oliver settled on water from the fridge door, quietly waiting for his glass to fill.

"You and Felicity aren't really talkative tonight," Gina noted. Oliver shrugged, careful not to jostle his glass.

"Tonight was kind of…stressful."

"I believe it. Really, you guys are lucky that nothing worse happened. A couple of cases of whiplash when you could have been hit…"

Oliver looked away from Gina's pinched, concerned face. Even if they had crashed head on, Oliver had the sick feeling that he would have walked away from _that_ accident, too. His stomach twisted at the thought of ghosting through his past with the potential car crash. The only major difference between that and the _Gambit_ going down would have been that he hadn't been arguing with Felicity at the time, while he had with his father.

The thought did surprisingly little to comfort.

Oliver stood in the kitchen a moment, sipping his water. He liked the cozy peace it offered, soothing after the events of the last hour. And he wasn't ready to go back to Felicity with the possibility of having lost her hanging in his head.

"So, how're you liking Hanukkah so far?" Gina asked, leaning against the counter as she watched him.

"It's good. But I haven't really seen much of it. Other than the menorah and the food, it's been like every other visit."

"You haven't been with Felicity when she lights her menorah?" Gina asked, cocking her head.

Oliver felt caught, but he didn't try to hide the embarrassment on his face. ' _Use what you have'_ had been a ruling principle in the Queen household, followed shortly by ' _And do it well_. _'_

"I…haven't really had the chance, no."

Gina shrugged, ever the one not to judge.

"That's too bad. I always found the prayers and religious parts to be tender, in a way. Kind of like the way I feel when I see a particularly pretty nativity. Just peaceful, you know?"

Oliver watched Gina a moment, then asked, "You're not Jewish, are you?"

Gina shook her head with a slight smile.

"No, I'm a hum drum Christian. The kids have had a sampling of both religions, though they're free to choose which faith to follow when they turn fifteen. Aaron's decided on Judaism, while Nicole prefers Christianity."

Oliver nodded, impressed that that much faith could be squeezed under one roof. Moira and Robert had practiced Christianity in a way that was more opportunistic than faithful, _god bless_ -ing things and attending service to impress or flatter people of interest. Oliver's faith in God had developed into something a vague and almost accidental.

"Are you comfortable with that, though?" Gina asked, tilting her head. "I mean, Felicity's faith. It can be a little strange coming to terms with a significant other's religion. For me it was pretty easy since Michael's such a laid back guy. He expected nothing but respect for his faith and he gave me the same in turn, which is a little tougher than it sounds. I'm not saying Felicity's expecting you to convert or anything, but…are you comfortable with her faith?"

"It's really not an issue between us," Oliver said with a shake of the head. "I'm not with her because of her religion."

"Not after a girl for her looks, cooking, or faith," Gina said, hailing back to Felicity and Donna's tense conversation during Thanksgiving. Oliver blinked, surprised Gina had retained his comment. "You're just here for Felicity herself, nothing more, nothing less."

"I like to think so," he said, unable to help the small smile on his face.

Gina watched him for a moment, then broke into a wide grin. "I like you, Oliver, I really do. I think you'll do good things with Felicity."

Oliver very, very much hoped she was correct.

The two of them trailed back to the living room, where Donna was holding court. She was regaling the crowd with tales of her crazier customers at the casino. Oliver settled into his seat, drawn in by her big hand gestures and silly voices used to set up the scene. Clearly, this was a trait Felicity had inherited form her mother.

The conversation moved on to other places, but a few minutes later Donna turned her attention to Oliver.

"Felicity told us you traveled a lot," she said, eyeing him down. He glanced down at Felicity, who shrugged and pressed herself a little tighter into his side.

"I only mentioned it," she said, sounding almost embarrassed. He looked back at Donna, who was waiting expectantly.

"I have," he acknowledged.

"So, what did you think of it? Most of us Lowes here stayed pretty small town."

"Starling and Vegas don't seem small town," Oliver noted blandly. Donna's perky smile seemed to harden, her mouth fixed in an expression of happiness while her gaze turned analytical. Oliver kept his own passive expression in place and wondered what on earth he had said to annoy her.

"No," she conceded, and he was certain there was a bit of a bite to her words, "not normally, but Felicity and I lived in a quiet neighborhood, and, well, Michael's family's out here in the suburbs. But tell me, traveling, seeing the big city. What are your thoughts?"

"Uh, Mom, that's kind of a huge subject, there," Felicity cut in. She sounded eager to shake them from the topic at hand, like she could shoo her mother away from Oliver with a few words.

"I'm just curious. I've barely spoken to him, I want to know what kind of man my daughter's falling all over!"

Oliver felt Felicity's hand clench into the couch cushion, her knuckles digging into his hip. He casually placed his hand over Felicity's as he looked at Donna.

"I liked it. Everywhere's a little bit different, but still has a lot of the same things. The people are what I really love, though," he said, feeling the Queen charm drip from his tongue. It was almost insincere in its politeness, smooth enough to make a person backpedal without knowing why. Donna, to her credit, didn't seem cowed.

"The people," she repeated blandly. "So do you make a lot of friends, then, or are they more of a case study to you?"

"I don't think the number of friends you make is indicative of anything," Felicity said. She was trying to act casual, but it didn't take her clenched fists to clue Oliver in to the fact that she was upset.

"Is that why you work human resources?" Melanie asked quickly, sliding into the conversation with her usual peacekeeping warmth. "Do you apply any of the things you learn from your travels to your job, or vice versa?"

"A little bit. It depends on the situation," he said, turning his attention toward Melanie.

He could feel Donna watching him, her eyes holding something that was part distaste and part puzzlement. His earlier fears of being recognized as Oliver Queen had abated. Her focus felt a little too hostile for her to be trying to place a face worth billions.

The conversation moved on, but Donna would periodically circle back to Oliver, eliciting his opinion on various subjects. She shot out questions about his opinion on income, attractive qualities in people, whether he thought of himself as a picky eater, and so on, and so on. Donna wasn't always hostile to him, but it seemed to come and go depending on his answer. Each time she spoke to him, though, he noticed Felicity stiffen and then relax as if forcing herself to trust mother to mind herself. A part of Oliver wanted to ask what it was about Felicity's mother that put her on edge, but he let it rest. Felicity had handed him enough secrets for one day.

Eventually people split off into other rooms for movies, different conversation, or food. Felicity and Oliver remained in the living room with Nicole, who was enraptured with her phone.

"I'm sorry about my mom," Felicity whispered, waiting until Nicole had put her ear buds in. "She's…trying to get to know you, I guess we could call it. She's nosy in a very blunt way. She's...I don't know, _suspicious_ of you and how you're suddenly here all the time, and you've got to clear her vetting process before she's comfortable with...us."

"Does she do this with everyone?"

"Not really, but kind of? If she's not chatting away for hours, she kind of makes conversation feel like an interrogation."

"It doesn't bother me," he said. "My mother has…a similar habit." The only real difference was that Moira knew how to decorate her information mining in old money politeness. Or not, as the occasion warranted.

"Well…that's not _good,_ but at least you're not being _completely_ broadsided by this."

"Why is she suddenly so interested? She wasn't like this at Thanksgiving."

Felicity was quiet for a moment, running the pad of her thumb over her dark green nails.

"She's…not convinced…about you. She thinks something is off, and she doesn't know what."

Oliver felt his skin prickle, but he didn't let his concern show. "Does she think…?"

"No, she just thinks you're….too perfect or something. It's dumb, really," she said, forcing out that laugh that didn't really seem amused. When Oliver didn't say anything, she continued on. "It's _fine_ , really. She just didn't expect…someone as good as you."

From what he could see of her face, Oliver guessed Felicity was thinking _'and I didn't, either.'_

He thought for a moment, searching through his arsenal of responses, comments, distractions, and gestures. They all seemed false in the crudest way, so he squeezed her side and rested his head against hers.

Gary's family streamed back into the living room after a while, commandeering the space for a movie. It was an older Disney film, one Oliver hadn't seen in years. Luke insisted on sitting on Felicity's lap, treating the two of them to little kid commentary the entire time.

"I'm going to go get some more water," he whispered to Felicity's ear about halfway through the film. She nodded and smiled at him, then turned her attention back to the tv.

Oliver trailed down the hall, again examining the photographs on the walls. They were truly wonderful, the details on Michael and Gina's children caught perfectly, the exotic landscapes in crisp focus.

"Oliver," Donna called from the parlor, catching his attention. He paused next to the doorway, watching her. She seemed to have just finished a phone call and was now waving him over. She was an unexpected splash of color in the mild parlor, her bright pink dress and false nails cutting trails in the air every time she moved. "Come here a moment. We haven't really had time to talk by ourselves."

He hesitated for half a breath as he recalled what Felicity said, then waked into the room. He sat in the arm chair next to the couch, waiting.

"How's your day been? Other than the crash, of course." She giggled as if to say _obviously!,_ but he saw the edges of concern in her eyes. Underneath the froth she had been worried for Felicity, and maybe even him.

"Not bad," he said, turning his thoughts away from their near miss. He thought instead of Felicity's apartment and her holding his hands as she sat in his lap. Donna nodded and glanced down at her phone. The big smile was still in place, but she seemed to be on the verge of saying something important. When she hesitated, Oliver pulled out the easy conversational skills his mother had carved into him.

"How was your flight? It was last minute, wasn't it?"

"Oh, yes, it was fine. Other than Thanksgiving, I haven't seen Felicity much, as she probably told you. I figured ' _why not?'_ and booked a flight. I just hope she appreciates the surprise." Donna's face turned down for a moment, the dimples and smile lines forming something a little more worried. But then they were back, paired up with a cheery, "Well, if I knew how she'd take it, it wouldn't really be a surprise!"

They were so alike, Oliver thought as he watched Donna. She and Felicity shared so many traits. They had the need to please, the deep seated worry for other people, the brightness that seeped out in slightly different ways. They seemed to be made entirely of sunshine; Donna the careless, jovial summer day while Felicity was a more sincere late afternoon, full of fun and energy but also reserving some time for gentler things.

Donna smiled at him for a moment, glanced down, then back up. He had seen the gesture from his mother countless times, so Oliver was prepared when she said, "Oliver…I supposed I wanted to ask you…what your intentions with my daughter are."

He raised his eyebrows, not having expected to hear those words again. Frowning parents and disapproving siblings and uncles and aunts and friends had all looked at Oliver Queen and demanded what he planned to do with the latest love sick girl hanging off his arm. And the answer would vary, sometimes bold faced lies of ' _I would never hurt her'_ when he had already grown bored with the girl, or sometimes uncertain responses that brushed off responsibility with his usual flippancy. He had done this dance _so_ many times.

"I'm…not sure what you're asking."

Donna narrowed her gaze at him and lifted her head just so.

"I love my daughter very much, Oliver. I _refuse_ to allow her to be hurt. She's a sweet, naive girl, and she's not on guard for people to hurt her. So I want to know just want you are expecting from a relationship with her."

Oliver blinked. He didn't know. Unless she wanted him for New Years, they had no plans to see each other again. He hadn't let himself think beyond today, but now the thought of tomorrow, the impending hour when he would have to say goodbye…

He didn't want it. He didn't want any of it.

"I…" he began, then stopped. Panic was jerking through his bones, making it hard to speak. He took a breath. "I don't ever want to leave Felicity."

"Not leaving is one thing, but doing the best for _her_ is an entirely different matter."

Oliver swallowed. The best for Felicity? What did he know about best for Felicity? He wasn't even entirely certain what they had yet, how could he know what was the best way to treat her? Oliver thought he could handle things reasonably well as Oliver Dearden, but once the Queen name was thrown into the mix...

"Mrs. Smoak, I plan on doing whatever will make your daughter happy. Please believe that."

Donna watched him for a long second, eyes uncertain. She didn't believe him. The one time he answered the question truthfully was the one time she didn't believe him.

But then Donna gave a tight nod, and said "Thank you…thank you for telling me. Now," she chirped, smacking her hands on her knees and hopping up, "I've got a movie to catch up on."

Oliver watched her leave the room. He sat there for a moment, mulling over their conversation. He heard Donna squeal "Oh, I _love_ this movie!" before he found the energy to stand up and finally get his drink of water. Felicity smiled when he reentered the room and made a little more space for him on the couch.

By the time the movie finished, most of the kids had nodded off. Luke was fast asleep, propped upright only by Felicity's grip.

"We should get these kids off to bed," Melanie said as the credits rolled. "Come on, you guys," she said to the children that were still awake.

"We should _all_ get to bed," Gina said with a yawn.

"I told the kids they could all sleep together," Michael told Felicity and Oliver. "The girls would get the playroom, the boys the spare room upstairs. Only thing is that you'll probably be sleeping on the floor. If either of you want a real bed, or even a room to yourself, the kids' beds are free, or you could get an air mattress down here or something. Up to you."

"I'm fine sleeping in the playroom," Felicity said, earning noises of excitement from the girls that were still awake.

"I'm okay on the floor," Oliver agreed.

"Alright, great. Could you guys help make up beds for everyone?" he asked, picking up Colin from where he was asleep on the floor.

"Yeah, no problem!" Felicity said. She handed Luke over to Gary and stood up to help.

The house filled with a sleepy kind of hush as everyone broke off to get ready for bed. The adults used lowered voices as they cleared dishes to the kitchen and coaxed the children into their pajamas, while the kids moved with a tired sort of purpose, jolting through the steps of changing clothes and brushing teeth without much thought.

Oliver made beds in the spare room, helped by Aaron and Michael. Between the three of them, they managed to blow up air mattresses, spread blankets, and lay out pillows for all of the boys.

"You can use the bathroom first," Aaron offered after they had finished, but Oliver shook his head.

"No, go ahead. I've still gotta grab my stuff from downstairs." He already had plans of changing and brushing his teeth in the assured peace of the downstairs bathroom, where no one would be waiting on him to finish quickly.

Oliver went back downstairs to grab his overnight bag. As he reached the landing, he noticed Felicity sitting alone in the living room. The room was completely dark, but she seemed perfectly content to sit in the far corner of the couch and play on her tablet.

He leaned against the doorway, watching her. Her face was intent as she tapped and swiped her way across the screen, occasionally breaking into a smile.

"What're you doing?" he asked softly. She looked up, with a vague start, but then broke into an easy smile.

"Oh, just catching up on social media. I tell myself I'm not addicted, but…here I am," she said, shrugging.

"Did you sneak away from making the girls' beds?"

"No, we finished a while ago. Most of the kids are sharing a bed. Now I'm just…decompressing."

Oliver tilted his head. They had spent the evening talking, eating, and watching movies. Other than trying to keep her mother in check, there hadn't been much to worry about once they had reached Gina's house.

"Are you still stressed from the trip?" he asked, walking over to her.

"Uhm, maybe a little? It still doesn't feel real. I'm more…processing everything."

Their conversation. That was what was still weighing on her. Talk of family and expectations and decisions, all sprinkled over with inconsequential things like favorite colors and clothes and things done as children.

Felicity stared absently at the far wall, then jolted herself back.

"What about you?" she asked. "Are you shirking work?"

"No, we just finished. I came down to grab my bag."

"I should let you get back to that, then."

"Probably."

They smiled at each other for a moment, then Oliver walked over to her. He sat down on the floor beside her, arm resting on the couch cushions.

"Anything interesting?" he asked, nodding at her tablet.

"Entertaining, but not quite interesting," she sighed, navigating away from a screen. "You know how social media is."

"Not really," he said, propping his head in his hand. "I haven't been on social media much in the last few…years."

" _Such_ a good choice. This thing grabs you and only lets you go when you've given up your soul."

"I'll remember that."

He watched her for a moment, feeling his breathing slow and his heart calm down. He needed this, too. The peace of sitting in unexpectant silence brushed against him like down, taking away the tension hiding in his shoulders.

"Sorry I'm not more interesting," Felicity sighed, glancing up at him. "At this point my brain is, like, _dead."_

Oliver smiled at her, shaking his head. "It's fine. I'm just…relaxing right now."

Felicity looked at him like she was searching his face in the dark, then returned to cruising the internet.

"For an IT person, you don't seem to be very attached to your electronics."

"What?" she asked, brow furrowing. "They're practically glued to my hand. I can hardly go _grocery_ _shopping_ without my tablet."

Oliver shrugged. "I've only seen you check your phone a couple of times every time we're here."

"Well…we're here for the people. It'd be kind of rude to be fused to a screen the whole time."

"I know, it's just…interesting."

"Maybe I'm making up for work?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Need to come up for air after staring at computers all day."

"Is it interesting, work?" he asked, curious about what she thought of working for his family.

"It's…work," she sighed. "I came in on a low level job, but my boss promised to breeze me on up because of my internship and MIT stuff. I'm more… _technical support_ than developing technology, which is where I want to be. But soon enough I'll get there," she told him. Felicity's face brightened at the thought of changing offices, helping to create the new products Queen Consolidated took such pride in. Then Felicity reeled herself back in and gestured with the tablet.

"But now, I'm using this to look at _awesome_ dream homes."

Oliver went up on his knees to look at her screen. Felicity tilted it toward him, revealing high windows and skylights and lofts, sweeping gardens and wrought iron fence posts.

"I _love_ this bedroom," Felicity said, pointing at a picture of a large bed laying directly on the floor. It was a rumpled sort of chic, featuring primly placed pillows against an almost haphazardly placed bedspread. The big attraction, though, was the enormous wall painted behind it. Oliver pushed himself up onto the couch beside Felicity as he stared at it, the wall painted to look like a photo taken in a set of surly blue-grey clouds just as the sun peeked through. "It would be _so cool_ to do this. Someday, someday," she hummed, scrolling farther down the page.

Oliver looked back at her, drinking in the way the white light of her tablet washed over her face. It created harsh shadows, but was kind to her softer features, the curves of her cheek, the shape of her mouth, the edge of her nose.

Felicity sighed and set her tablet on the end table, allowing only the vaguest light to reach her face. She pressed her wrists into her forehead, slumping back into the pillows.

"I'm exhausted," she murmured. "I just can't turn my mind off. Guess I'm a little more stressed than I thought," she laughed, peeking at him past her arms.

"You'll be fine," he whispered to her.

Felicity lowered her hands from her face and looked him head on. She shifted slightly, and Oliver was aware of her knees digging into his thigh. His chest felt hollow, his pulse beating through him even while his heart was missing.

"What makes you so certain?" Felicity asked, voice nervous and hopeful and small in the dark.

"I've seen worse and I'm still fine."

Felicity clenched her hands, the action so slight her almost missed it. Oliver's stomach flipped, and then he leaned over and kissed her.

It was soft, a quiet question her pressed against her lips. Felicity hesitated for the smallest second, then kissed the sweetest answer back.

Oliver pressed Felicity into the cushions, gently, gently resting his body against hers. One hand was holding her cheek, the other pressed against her hip. Felicity's hands were clenched into the couch at first, but then they went up to cradle his sides.

It was a little strange kissing Felicity, because it was tender, careful, and deliberate in the way it demanded nothing more. Normally when Oliver kissed women, it was fevered and needy and the sloppy introduction to so much more. But not with her. He didn't _want_ to push it to more, he didn't want to drag his hands through her hair or slip off her clothes or _anything._ He just wanted to stay there, to place silent ' _I like you_ 's on her skin.

Felicity no longer braced herself against his sides, but was now truly holding him. Her arms weren't flung around his neck so she could kiss him harder, but were wrapped around his chest in a hug, gentle and accepting.

Oliver laid delicate kisses on Felicity's jaw, trailing down to her neck. He felt his shirt ride up, and Felicity's hands moved down to touch his side.

She froze, a tiny gasp leaving her as her fingers pressed against the skin of his side. Not the skin, he realized. The scar tissue.

Oliver stopped, dread making it hard to breathe. Usually his scars weren't an issue, anyone expecting him to take his clothes off was briefed up front and any rejection was delivered before they ever saw his body. Those scars were the last physical traces of the _Gambit_ going down, the flaming, jagged wreckage tearing into him before he could escape. The doctors had claimed it was a miracle that had delivered Oliver safely out of the water. He had been bleeding, disoriented, alone, but they had claimed him safe, claimed it a miracle.

But Felicity, bright, sunshiney Felicity, who painted her nails bright, happy colors and could talk for hours on end about television and books and movies, had _never_ experienced tragedy, never had it wrap its vindictive arms around her chest and stay.

Barely allowing himself to breath, Oliver shifted back. It was just enough for her to leave, if she wanted. He felt something in his chest crack at the thought of losing her, revealing something fragile and painful. He could see her face, now alarmed by the ragged scar she was now inspecting with her entire hand. He could only imagine what she thought of him. Oliver closed his eyes, not wanting to see the moment when she drew away, took her kisses back, removed herself from the scene after finding the evidence of such horror.

Instead, Felicity pulled his shirt back to its proper place, smoothing it down with inexplicable care. She covered his scars and respected his secrets without the barest trace of disgust or fear. Oliver opened his eyes, shocked to see the slight edge of her smile in the dark. She pressed the smallest kiss against his lips and left that big truth for another day.

Oliver rested his forehead against hers and pressed his hand flat against her cheek. He hoped she could feel the thanks and adoration tumbling through his fingertips, telling her that there was no better gift in all the world. Felicity laid her hand over his.

"We should get to bed," she whispered.

"Okay," he murmured back, not pulling away, not wanting to let the moment go just yet.

But then he sat up, knowing not to force it, not to steal what was so generously being given.

Felicity sat up beside him, her hand still in his. She was running her thumb back and forth, intoxicating him with the precious simplicity of the gesture. Oliver wanted to lay back down, to hold her in his arms and go to sleep, to soak up all of her _good_ and never look back.

She stood and said, "I'll…I'll let you get ready for bed, then."

He nodded and made himself go get his overnight bag, giving them both some time to recover. When he turned back, though, Felicity was waiting on the steps. She fidgeted, her expression conflicted in the light of the upstairs hallway. He moved closer, suddenly worried that he had been wrong, that this was the moment he had been fearing, that she was too kind a person to shove him away without explanation.

"Are you—"

Felicity gave him a quick peck on the mouth, their heads level thanks to the extra steps lending her height. She pulled back, blurting "Goodnight, Oliver!" then hurried up the stairs.

Oliver leaned against the stair rail, giving himself a few moments to catch the breath she had knocked from his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felicity may or may not have stayed up for quite a while after, texting Caitlin and having a delighted freak out session because she just kissed OLIVER. Caitlin, good friend that she is, stayed up with her, regardless of the time difference.


	13. paving the way home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely response, as well as the numerous wishes that I had a good vacation! It was absolutely heartwarming :D

Oliver stared at the window, absently watching Starling soldier on in the cold. It had been a few days since Hanukkah and things had evened out. Oliver felt like he was in this strange halfway place, expecting the next evening with Felicity and her family even when he knew that there wouldn't be one. Not another job, at least. But he knew he was going to see her, the velvet memory of their kiss chasing his doubts away. Had it been one kiss, had it ended on the gentle withdrawal of her not asking about his scars, he would have worried, would have believed Felicity Smoak was a wonderful maybe that stayed in the past. But the kiss she had given him after, the nervous good night peck and self-conscious retreat had promised that they, whatever they were, were safe (and the shy, adorable "I'll see you later?" she gave him after she drove him home hadn't hurt things, either).

So he waited until the time was right for him to contact her, to follow up and go from there.

He shook himself from his reverie and set aside his laptop. He had been sorting through business offers, systematically discarding the description of Christmas parties and holiday pick-me-ups and blunt requests for sex. There were shockingly few emails remaining, even by his normal post-purge standard.

Oliver walked to his counter and braced his hands against it. His eyes searched for distraction, something to occupy him. He had already found Christmas gifts for Diggle and his family ( _T_ _hings_ , Oliver had learned, did nothing for them, things could be picked out at random. _Time and memories_ , on the other hand, were truly priceless), so that was a dead end. He didn't want to watch anything on his computer, and he didn't have anyone to go see. Maybe he could bite the bullet and fix the radio Mrs. Hanagawa had been dropping hints about all week, despite his silent avoidance of her since the veiled prostitute comment.

No, he decided, he wasn't _that_ desperate.

A knock on the door spared him from having to continue rooting around for further possibilities. He walked over and opened the door.

"Geeze, Ollie, you live in the city. Don't you know you're supposed to use the peep hole?"

Oliver stared at the woman standing in his doorway, grinning at him in a mix of excitement, cheekiness and delight.

" _Sara?!"_ he asked, the word rushing out of him in disbelief. He barely had time to get the sound out before she grabbed him into a hug and squeezed him for all she was worth. He staggered back a few steps, still dumbstruck.

"C'mon, Oliver, don't you know how hugs work?" she said, voice muffled by his shirt. He clamped his arms down into a jerky hug, then pulled her back to stare into her face. She had more freckles than he remembered and her hair was a little lighter, suggesting she had spent plenty of time in the sun. She grinned at him, her smile so infectious that it broke through his shock.

"What're you _doing_ here?" he asked, welcoming her inside. "Are you visiting family? How long…it's so good to _see_ you."

She nodded, rocking back on her heels.

"I'm just passing through," she said easily, ignoring his question. She had fallen on familial trouble around the same time as Oliver had. She claimed it was a case of different people wanting different things finally coming to a head, but Oliver had the distinct feeling that he had been the unintentional catalyst. After all, it was unlikely the fighting within the Lance family would have started had Oliver not invited Sara onto the _Gambit_ while he was still dating Laurel. Thankfully, her father had caught her before she made it to the docks, but Oliver had been keenly aware of how close he had come to potentially causing her death.

"Road tripping trough Christmas?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as she dropped her duffle bag and backpack down at the end of the counter. She shrugged again, giving that mischievous smile that had so often led all of their friends into trouble.

"Is Nyssa in town, too?"

"No, she's in London with her dad right now. But she's flying back to Cali for a few days after Christmas, so we were planning on meeting up and celebrating the holiday after."

Nyssa was Sara's girlfriend of over a year, whom Oliver had never met, but had heard and seen a lot of. She frequented the pictures Sara sent him, usually featuring an expression of acute discomfort over the silly situations Sara managed to get her into. Oliver guessed she was a serious, down to earth person, and often wondered _why_ she had allowed Sara to photograph such unrefined moments.

"Back to California?" Oliver asked. "Is that where you've been?"

Sara hopped onto the counter and shrugged. After she had left her parents' house, Sara had roamed in a similar fashion to Oliver. She occasionally told him where she had settled, but most often left him to decode the snapshots she took of the city and surrounding area. Oliver had to think her antics were amusing, or else feel further guilt over doing the same thing to his family.

"Los Angeles," she said softly, giving the information a sort of reverence. "Been there for almost six months. Nyssa's family has a beach house out there."

Nyssa's family, it turned out, also happened to be extremely and ridiculously wealthy. It was a clinical wealth, though, allowing for none of the pretentious luxury of the Queens. Sara had been slow to tell Oliver at first, as if embarrassed by falling in love with yet another rich person.

He nodded, still barely able to believe she was there. He hadn't seen her in _years,_ their travels taking them everywhere except to each other.

"Do you have a hotel already?"

"Not so much," she said, swinging her feet.

"You can stay here," he offered. Sara hesitated, trying to smother her apprehension.

"I don't want to be a burden."

"It's just a place to rest," he said. Sara looked up at him with almost scared eyes, reflecting the anxiety he got whenever he thought about going home. "It's your choice," he said with a shrug.

Sara slid off the counter and gazed around his apartment.

"I like it," she said, nodding at the space. "Usually studios feel cramped, but this place, it's open."

"It's because of the tall ceiling," he said.

"And you barely having more than the clothes on your back," she smirked. Sara could say things like that because she was hardly doing better.

She ran her fingers over the low bookcase that sectioned off his bedroom and took in the cool efficient decorations. His home suddenly felt sparse compared to Felicity's, which had been filled to the brim with sweet decorations that completely reflected her. Did his home reflect his personality as well, were the hard edges and crisp colors too telling?

"I don't know if I'll go see my family," Sara said, facing the floor to ceiling window. Oliver watched her from the kitchen, arms folded.

"Do they know you're in town?"

"No one knows I'm in town," she said, throwing him a black smile over her shoulder. "No one but you and me and the bus driver."

Oliver considered a moment, then pushed himself away from the kitchen counter. He walked over to her, lingering a few feet away.

"Does your family know where you are?" she asked, voice sharp enough to keep him from pursuing the subject.

"They do."

"But you haven't seen them yet," she said. He met her gaze.

"No."

"Then why should _I…_ " Sara cut herself off. She was holding herself very, very tight.

"I _should,_ " he said gently. "But it's a little different for me."

Sara gave an ugly snort, but didn't deny it. She let out a sigh.

"I haven't talked to them in years," she whispered. "Laurel must _hate_ me."

"Laurel's moved on."

"She's stubborn."

"Five years stubborn?" he asked with a smile, because Laurel could probably hold a grudge until the sun imploded. Sara huffed out a laugh and looked back at him. Her gaze searched his face, seeking something he didn't know if she would find.

"How's work going?" she asked, clearing her throat like clearing away the past was half so easy.

"It's good," he said, allowing the moment to pass anyway. "Everyone's scrambling last second for the holidays, like always."

"You can afford to be picky?" she asked with a grin. "Anything sticking out?"

"A few."

She watched him with a wise smile, but she didn't push and he wasn't willing to give in to her methods.

"What have you been doing lately?" he asked, gesturing her to one of his chairs.

"Oh, I dunno," she sighed, plopping into a seat. "A little bit of everything, it feels like. I'm working at this _super_ granola crunchy place. It's all _organic quinoa_ and _vegan chapstick_ and _loose leaf tea_." Sara rolled her eyes as she spoke, as though the idea of non-processed foods and artificial chemical free products were ridiculous.

"You love it there," Oliver said, and she broke into a guilty grin.

"Okay, yeah, so I get discounted tea and huge things of local honey. Can you _blame me,_ though? I mean, _Oliver,_ it's _honey._ I live for that stuff."

"Good to know," he laughed. "And Nyssa?"

"She's running things for her dad in the LA branch," Sara said with a wave. "She's _miserable_ , though. She likes the work, but her dad…isn't the most understanding guy."

Oliver nodded, feeling an odd ring of familiarity to the tale. It made him think about his mother.

"So are you going to be in LA for Christmas?"

Sara shrugged, eyes again roaming the room. "I dunno. I don't have a bus ticket, so I'm not locked in for anything. I was just going to wing it."

Oliver watched her. The last few weeks had taught him that holidays _needed_ people, if absolutely nothing else. There was an infectious contentment in family gatherings that made the happiness of big days complete. Despite the little contentions that arose, _people_ made it all better.

"Why don't you come over to Diggle's with me for Christmas?" he offered.

"No…no really, it's fine—"

" _Sara,_ come on," he said, leaning forward. "It's better than being alone."

She gave him a sideways look, tense and almost unhappy.

"Stick around the city for a few days. You haven't been here in, what, years?"

" _Yeah,_ " she said, ducking her head.

"Then enjoy it. See some familiar faces without the pressure."

"I barely know Diggle, I can't just—"

"Sara," he cut off, "they're good people. They won't turn you away."

She chewed on her lip for a moment, then huffed out a sigh.

"Fine," she said. _"Fine,_ I'll go. But don't you dare try to make me see my family," she warned, pointing a finger at him that was only half joking.

"Not my call," he said easily, pleased that she was going to stay.

Sara also gave in to his offer of letting her stay over, but stubbornly refused to take the bed.

"Ollie, _no,"_ she said, glaring at him from her half-constructed nest on the floor. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed. Also, I have a _bed nest._ "

He rolled his eyes, but let her continue arranging blankets and pillows on the floor.

They passed the few days before Christmas by talking and wandering the city, exploring the places they hadn't explored as well-off teens. They caught up with each other, stories and opinions mixing together with memories and old jokes. Oliver told her about Verdant opening and how Tommy wanted him to be there, and Sara explained how she and Nyssa were starting to get serious, but that Sara didn't feel comfortable going on without having the big family sit down.

Oliver told Sara things that didn't come out with other people, because she knew his situation better than any other. She had seen his grief and guilt after his father had died, had been one of very few not to lecture or coddle or berate or _not understand._ When his family had walked on eggshells and her family hated him, Sara cut through it all. She had given him a stubborn look and said, "We tried to make a mistake and now I want to avoid really making another." She had _talked_ to him, listened to his silence and his words and worked and waited for him to be okay.

When Sara had had the blowout with her family, she had texted him from the bus station.

 _how do you get through it?_ she had asked, the little letters vague and yet revealing tears, panic, anger, fear.

 _one day at a time,_ had been his honest reply.

And there they were, years later, fighting the same problems, facing the same things. It didn't really feel like he was getting through it, now that he thought about it.

"You're sure it's okay?" she asked on Christmas Eve. She had been notably silent about their holiday plans in the days leading up to Christmas, but she looked truly concerned as she curled up on her makeshift bed. "I mean, I don't have presents and I'm just a _stranger_ showing up on their door."

"It's _fine,_ " he assured her. "And you're not a stranger, Digg knows you."

" _Yeah,_ " she grumbled. "But it's _how_ he knows me that gives me pause."

Oliver hesitated a moment, surprised by her words. But they made sense. Diggle had never interacted with Sara beyond giving her a few hard looks as she disappeared with Oliver for their latest teen rebellion. And after the accident, she would have been labeled the girl that had decided to cheat with her sister's boyfriend.

He looked at his hands. Diggle wouldn't hold that against her. He was a strong believer in second chances, though Oliver doubted that was something Sara would trust until she was actually there to experience it. So, instead of giving her well-meant advice that would miss its mark, he hauled a smile onto his face.

"If I can make it through Hanukkah, you can do this."

Sara blinked, frowning at him from her nest-bed. "Hanukkah? Were you invited by a Jewish friend or something?"

"Yeah, a couple weeks ago," he said, then paused. He hadn't hesitated to say it, but now the words felt false. He hadn't been _invited_ to the Lowes' for Hanukkah, he'd been paid. He had been paid to accompany Felicity.

But the truths that had passed back and forth and the conversation with her family and their kiss seemed to outweigh that, redefining things and gently pushing the promise of money off the scale.

"Cool," she said, nodding her head. "What was it like?"

"Peaceful. It was completely about family, not appearances or anything. But that was just everyone spending time together. We missed most all of the ceremony."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"We were run off the road and got stuck in a snow bank."

Sara broke into a laughter and shook her head. "Well, I guess if I don't get in a car accident on the big day, I guess I've really got nothing to complain about."

Still, Oliver felt her worry as they went to sleep, Sara quietly fidgeting in the dark.

On Christmas morning Oliver and Sara caught a bus across town, but had to walk the last few blocks due to the reduced schedule. Sara had accepted Oliver's leather jacket, as her layers of clothing hadn't done much to cut through the wet cold.

"I can't believe this _weather,_ " Sara sighed, kicking at a clump of ice. "Usually Starling's covered in mist and rain, what's with this _snow?_ "

"I dunno. But at least we get a white Christmas."

It hadn't snowed in the last week, but it had been cold enough to keep the snow on the ground. Of course, it had then turned to ice, but it at least maintained the illusion of a winter wonderland.

"I much prefer _not_ freezing weather," she grumbled.

" _How_ did you manage living in Boston?"

"By running down to New Orleans when it dipped below twenty."

Oliver laughed and led her up the walk to Diggle's apartment. Carly answered the door, AJ zipping into view immediately after.

" _Oliver!_ " he cheered, grabbing ahold of Oliver's legs once he stepped inside. " _Merry Christmas are there more presents?_ "

"And who's this?" Carly asked, turning to Sara.

"This is Sara Lance, a friend of mine," he said. "Sara, this is Carly, Diggle's sister-in-law."

"Merry Christmas," Sara said, giving Carly a warm smile.

"Hey," Diggle said, walking over to greet the two. He gave Oliver a quick hug and shook Sara's hand.

"Thank you for having me," Sara said meekly. She seemed stiff, as though thrown by seeing the head of Queen security in a t-shirt and jeans.

Everyone was quickly introduced before they migrated to the living room. Carly and AJ occupied the arm chairs, Diggle and Lyla sat together at the end of the couch, while Sara sat on the floor. Oliver gave into AJ's pestering before he settled himself, knowing AJ would continue endlessly.

"Merry Christmas," he said, pulling a toy bow and arrow from his bag and handing it to the boy.

" _Awesome,_ " AJ breathed. After he had seen pictures of Oliver on the archery range, AJ had begged his mother nonstop for archery lessons.

"If he breaks anything with that, I'm billing you," she informed Oliver, helping AJ with the packaging.

"Here's _yours,_ " he said, handing her a pass to a day spa (he had been the manager's neighbor in Tucson and had earned the favor by fixing his car when it broke before an important business meeting). Carly's eyes widened, a delighted grin spreading across her face.

"Thank you," she breathed, holding the pass in careful hands. "This spa, it's—it's one of the best on the West Coast!"

"I hope that has a sticky note on it saying you'll take care of AJ, rather than dumping him off on me," Diggle told Oliver, raising an eyebrow. Oliver shrugged, saying nothing but offering a cheeky grin.

"What'd Uncle John get what'd Uncle John get?" AJ asked, tugging on Oliver's shoulder.

"Reservations to Blue Spruce."

"That place has been booked solid for _ages,_ " Lyla said, straightening.

"I worked with the brother of the owner. Any day you want, they'll clear you a table."

"Thanks," Diggle breathed, eyes wide like he was still processing. " _Blue Spruce,_ though? You said Blue Spruce?"

"Yep."

"They got top marks in every review I've seen," he half-whispered, a hopeful expression on his face. Diggle, Oliver had learned, was more than a bit of a closet foodie.

"And you," Oliver said, turning to Sara and reaching into his pocket.

"What? Oh, no, I'm fine, really," she protested, hands raised to push the gift away. " _Really,_ I'm crashing the party, you didn't need to—"

Oliver held out several straws to her, filled with what he had been assured was locally grown honey.

"Oh," Sara said, taking the sticks from him. She looked up, expression equal parts surprise and confusion. "Thank you."

"What's Oliver's present?" AJ asked the room, loving the exchange of gifts almost more than receiving them.

"Knew I forgot something," Diggle said with a snap of his fingers. AJ gasped in horror, then sighed in relief when Diggle produced a small card. Oliver took it, trying not to narrow his eyes. Diggle knew better than buy things for him; his pride and stubbornness effectively stifled almost all good intentions.

It was a gym membership, dated for the following year. He looked at Diggle, unsure what to make of it.

"For that new parkour place you've been talking about," Diggle said with a smile. "It'll cover the entire year."

"I…thank you," he murmured, turning it over in his hands. The gym was top notch and very expensive. He looked back at Diggle, mouth open to say something even as his brain stuttered. It was still strange, feeling examples of kindness that were genuine rather than a political play.

" _Nobody move,_ I am getting my camera— _John_ do not roll your eyes at me," Carly ordered.

"Oliver did it first."

Oliver gave John a look, because _yes,_ he had rolled his eyes first, but Carly hadn't seen that.

She hopped up and grabbed her camera, snapping several obligatory photos before dropping back down beside AJ.

"How you two eaten?" Carly asked, turning concerned eyes to Oliver and Sara. "We have scones, hot chocolate, eggs, sausage…"

The rest of the day was spent comfortably, reminding Oliver what it was like to be around people that knew and cared for him. Sara warmed up quickly, stowing away her previous doubts. Carly manned the kitchen, roping people in to make sweet potatoes and rolls and green beans.

It was similar to the quirky clockwork of Felicity's family, but it had its own edge to it. Oliver remembered Felicity's shock at his revelation of being estranged from his family, how family had been so _vital_ to her. It hadn't quite made sense to him, the image of his stilted and stifled family just after the accident flickering in his head. But now, looking at these people, he understood. Family, for all of its flaws, made things _better._ And it was a damn shame that he didn't make more of what he had.

Around noon, Oliver's phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked it, surprised to find a text from Felicity.

 _Merry Christmas,_ it said. _Hope your day's going well._

"What're _you_ grinning at?" Sara asked, looking at him over a bowl of potatoes she was mashing.

"' _Who'_ is a better question. We're the only friends he has," Diggle said from where he was making an apple pie. Oliver rolled his eyes and responded to Felicity.

_thank you, it's going very well._

He held his breath, thumb hovering over 'send'.

 _and how's your day?_ he added, then sent the text before he could second guess himself.

"Looks like it's a _girl,_ " Sara teased, reading the text over his shoulder. She waggled her eyebrows at him, a smug grin on her face.

"That's _extra_ impossible, that means she'd have to _talk_ to him."

Oliver was really beginning to regret properly introducing Diggle and Sara.

He texted Felicity throughout the afternoon, the two of them staying on light, airy subjects. He smiled at her use of caps and emoticons, the text version of strange voices and hand gestures.

"Okay, seriously though, _who_ are you texting?" Diggle finally asked, forcefully closing the oven after checking the ham.

"It's Felicity," he said, hoping to brush off his curiosity with the pretense of work.

"Felicity?" Sara asked, perking from where she was playing with AJ at the counter. Oliver mentally groaned. "Who's _Felicity?"_

"This girl that hired Oliver to be her boyfriend for the holidays," Lyla said, stopping in the kitchen to get a drink.

" _Really?_ " Sara asked. Oliver did not like the look she gave him. "How'd you get out of spending Christmas with her?"

"She's Jewish." He instantly regretted his quick response when her eyes brightened.

"So _that's_ the person you spent Hanukkah with."

" _Yes._ "

"This has got to be more than work with how much you've been grinning," Diggle observed.

"Maybe she's sending him dirty texts," Sara said, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

"They are _not,_ " he snapped. Sara only looked smug in the face of his scowl.

"You'll have to tell me about her _sometime,_ Oliver," she sing-songed. "She's gotta be special if you're texting her this much."

"She's not—I'm not—it's _nothing._ "

" _Sure,_ " Lyla said, shaking her head and leaving the kitchen.

Dinner was pleasant, a haze of good foods and good moods. Oliver was reluctant to leave, but Sara had announced that she would be checking in with other friends the following day and wanted to get an early start. They politely declined Carly's offer of a car ride (she lived on the other side of town and she had planned on staying late), then left Diggle's apartment after several long good-byes and containers of leftovers that had been forced into their hands.

"I like them," Sara declared as they descended the steps to the street. "John's…not the scary hardass I always imagined him to be."

"Yeah, his mood is always better when you're not trying to sneak out to go drag racing with bikini models."

"Okay, one _,_ _rude_ you should have invited me to that. And two _,_ I feel like it was the copious amounts of _alcohol_ at those events that pissed him off."

Oliver laughed, recalling Diggle's annoyed lectures on his role of keeping the Queen family safe and how Oliver had been actively trying to undermine that. They had seemed funny when not dead boring, because Oliver had had no intentions to stop. But he had valued Diggle's doggedness after the wreck when he had been the only person willing to bark at Oliver over the pity party he had been throwing.

The bus ride home was quiet and Sara made quick work of her things after they got home. Oliver wondered who she planned on seeing the following day. Had she kept up with old friends or had she cast off her old life, just as Oliver had? Did she plan on including her family in the mix?

The next morning Sara left early. Oliver helped her fold up blankets from the floor, fed her a bowl of cereal, then she was ready to go.

"Thanks for the place to stay," she said, rocking on her heels. "I hadn't planned on hanging around for so long, but…it was nice to catch up."

"It was my pleasure," he said, smiling at her. Sara grinned, then pulled him into a hug.

"And thanks for the honey," she murmured, then pulled away. "Christmas was…very nice."

"We should do it again sometime." Oliver smiled as he said it, but he also wondered if their paths would again intersect.

"Definitely. Maybe I'll bring Nyssa along," she laughed, walking to the door.

"Have a safe trip."

"Alright, thanks. And don't forget to ask out Felicity!"

Oliver rolled his eyes and closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so be honest how many of you thought i was going to complicate the plot by throwing sara in there.


	14. here's a wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter will put to rest your guys' questions about Sara being the mysteriously similar friend Oliver and Felicity have ;)

Felicity answered a knock on the door and found Sara on the other side. She stared, squealed, then grabbed her up into a hug.

"What're you _doing_ here?!" Felicity demanded, staring Sara up and down. She was freckly and had an enormous grin stretching across her face.

"Seeing you," she said, half ' _isn't it obvious?'_ , half ' _bam here I am'._

"But—how did you know where I live?"

"The phone book, Miss Smoak, fulfills all needs."

There was a touch more squealing, then hugging, then rapid fire chatter. Felicity felt very much like her mother. Sara apparently had swung through town for a while, spending Christmas with a friend while Nyssa was overseas.

"It still can't believe you're _here_ ," Felicity said, staring at her from across the couch. "You're flashing me back to college, I swear."

"Ah, Central City," Sara said reminiscently. "Those were fun times. Are you still in touch with the STAR Labs crew?"

"Oh, yeah! Caitlin was just in town during Hanukkah."

"Caitlin, my lovely stick in the mud." Sara had received endless amounts of entertainment at Caitlin's expense. "How was Hanukkah, though? Did you see your family?

"Yeah, we went up there for the weekend."

"' _We_ '?" she asked, raising a questioning eyebrow. She was already wearing a smile like she _knew_ this was going to be quite the story.

Oh _crap._ Sara had not been apprised of the whole Oliver Situation.

"Uhm, well, you know…you know that escort you suggested?"

 _This is only every bit as awful as I thought it would be,_ Felicity thought to herself, trying not to sigh. There had been a reason why the subject had conveniently never come up. How _on earth_ was she to describe crush-inducing situations to her friend who had _bought_ Oliver before? Not even her life was that awkward.

"Yeah?" Sara asked, straightening slightly. "You asked Oliver out for Hanukkah, too?"

"I didn't ask him _out,_ " Felicity said, palms sweating. "But…yes, he was…there."

"How was it?"

"Good."

"Oh _no,_ " Sara said, that awful, knowing looking in her eyes. "You like him. Something happened and you _like_ him!"

" _Aaaaaaaaaaugh_ am I that obvious?" she asked, slapping her hands over her face.

" _Totally._ Spill it, girl."

"I…oh my gosh, this is too embarrassing."

" _No,_ it's cute _tell me._ "

"Okay, so…well…no, I dunno, it feels kind of… _awkward."_

"What? Why? Did you do something sketchy with him? Wait, you didn't sleep with him, did you?" Sara asked, frowning as she cocked her head like the information didn't match up.

"What? Ooooooh, _no_ , no we haven't slept together—I mean, _yes_ , we _slept_ together, but there were no sexual acts involved. None of that. Nope. None."

"So what's up?" Sara insisted, exasperated that Felicity wasn't cutting to the chase.

"It's just… _well,_ you've kind of hired him, too, and I don't…I dunno. It feels kind of like sloppy seconds," Felicity muttered, wincing as she said it because it sounded gross and cheap and terrible and really rude to Oliver in general.

"Sloppy…? _Oh,"_ Sara said, frowning as she tried to understand before another smile broke across his face. "No, you've got it all wrong! I've never _hired_ Oliver before, he's just an old friend I knew before he was an escort. Since you needed someone to help you out for Thanksgiving, I figured I'd pass his name on to you. We've never even gone on a date."

 _"Really?_ " Felicity asked, anxiety disappearing instantly. " _Oh, thank goodness._ Here I was thinking that this was some…I don't even know what, but it made me feel really icky inside but now we're cool."

"Totally cool— _now tell me about Oliver."_

"He's…really, really nice," she stammered, and then it was like someone had punched through her dam and all of her excited, nervous, and inappropriately giggly feelings were tumbling forth. "He's quiet and he listens to everything I say no matter how stupid and he's _so smooth_ , which is great because I'm about as smooth as a piece of chewing gum, but it's totally not pretense. When he's not on show for my family he just…he's so _sweet_ and _careful_ and treats me like…I dunno what, I just love it and I would love to kiss him and snuggle him until I die." Felicity ended with a huff, leaning back into the couch cushions.

Sara was practically beaming as Felicity spoke, straightening more and more with utter delight.

"So what started it?"Sara asked. "What made you first like him? Was it cause he's cute? It can't have been his cuddly personality."

Felicity paused, torn between protests. Which made her seem less atrociously smitten; saying that Oliver was more dead gorgeous than cute, or that _technically_ there had been an deliciously inappropriate amount of cuddling between the two of them? Instead she played it safe and answered Sara's first question.

"Well, I always thought he was attractive, yeah. But, if we're being honest, I liked that he always paid attention. Like, one time we were taking a nap together and since I'm a total cuddle monster I was holding onto him. Then he wanted to roll over, so he picked up my hand like it was the most precious thing in the world, I kid you not, and then set it back down. All so he wouldn't wake me up! And then we were out at the swing—my aunt's house has a swing—and I was sitting on it and he started pushing me without me even asking. And he _always_ listens when I talk, and he's so careful not to push me out of my comfort zone when we're in front of my family. He pays attention to every little thing and uses that to make me feel _awesome_."

"I believe it," Sara said with an eager nod. "He plays it cool but he takes _awesome_ care of everyone he cares about."

" _Yeah_ he plays it cool!" Felicity said, because that was much easier than thinking about him caring about her. It was one thing to think it to herself and a completely different thing to hear it said aloud by someone else. "He _knows_ he's doing all of this squirm-inducing stuff but he always pretends like he doesn't and it's _kills_ me every time. _But,_ " she said raising a hand, "but, but, _but_ what I _really_ love is how _honest_ he is with me. Like, he's a private person, okay, that's fine, but he'll tell me things and I know in my gut they're true. You know, at first it was little stuff, kind of unimportant personal stuff, like how he likes weird sports like archery and parkour. But as time went on and we kept seeing each other, he started telling me deeper stuff like how he hasn't been in contact with his family and really misses them. And, Sara, he's _completely_ straightforward with me. He—he noticed that I'm kinda private, too, and told me straight up. No one had ever said that to me! I had _no idea._ He's kind and smart and attractive and open with me and…he makes me really happy."

"Wow," Sara murmured, eyebrows raised. "That's… _really_ honest with you. "

"Mm-hm! And I _know_ all of it is real. I mean, I know it's not just in my head, me thinking he likes me when he's just pretending to be my boyfriend. I know in my gut that this isn't him pretending. Everything he says to my family seems to come easy to him, like pretending to be this other person is as easy as breathing to him, but this stuff…he's searching out every word, making sure I understand exactly what he means. And—and—on Hanukkah we may or may not have kissed."

"Shut up," Sara said, slapping her hands down on the couch cushions. "Shut _up._ He kissed you?! Like, for real?"

" _Yes,_ " she sighed, flopping back into the couch, a stupid, delighted grin on her face. "He's kissed me before just for show, little pecks on my cheek or my hair or something, but this—I was just sitting there talking to him and then he kissed me. It was so _gentle_ and it was honestly one of my better memories, even when—"

Even when she found the scars. Those tired, angry memories of pain had shocked her, no doubt. It had broken her heart the way Oliver pulled back as if on instinct, face twisted in apprehension. And then he'd mended it again when he pressed his hand against her face in thanks for not demanding his jagged, painful past.

But that was not her story to tell.

She moved on quickly, and if Sara noticed the break she didn't comment. When Felicity petered out at the explanation of the pause since Hanukkah, Sara stared at her and said, "Well, _see_ him again, duh!"

Sometimes, it was very nice having a Sara to talk to rather than a Caitlin.

"I texted him yesterday," she said defensively.

"To wish him Merry Christmas, or just say 'hey, I remember you'?"

"Both. I mean, I said 'Merry Christmas', but then we kept texting."

Felicity flushed at the thought of how eagerly she had waited for those texts, toting her phone around with her all day as she watched movies and caught up on chores that had gotten away from her. Each time her phone chimed, her heart had maybe sung a little bit.

"But now, I—I kind of…I want to invite him to this New Year's party I'm going to."

" _Okay?"_

"It's—it's awkward. I mean, every other time I asked him to something it was with the promise of money at the end. _And_ I said that I might even include New Year's in this whole holiday thing before we became...real? What if he thinks—I don't _think_ he'll take it that way, but what if there's some confusion? I might actually die if at the end of the night he's waiting to be paid and I'm the idiot acting like it's a real date."

Felicity's anxieties from weeks before suddenly resurfaced, making it hard to breathe. She was _pretty_ sure he liked her, everything had indicated it, she had been _so certain_ a few seconds ago, but...what if she was completely and utterly and hilariously wrong?

 _Stop it,_ she told herself, _stop it stop it stop it he **likes you.** You can do this. You know in your nerdy heart of hearts that he likes you. You are okay to do this._

"Okay _no._ Felicity Smoak, I promise you that if he spent all day texting you, all _Christmas_ Day, mind you, when he was probably spending lots of good quality time with friends and eating apple pie and turkey and playing games and crap, risking the endless teasing he undoubtedly received, then he _definitely_ will go out on a real date with you."

"There's nothing to say that he was being _teased_ over texting me," she mumbled, mentally reviewing the myriad of texts that had passed between them.

Yes, they had texted from early afternoon to late into the night (she had justified staying up texting by watching _Pride and Prejudice..._ or maybe she had justified watching _Pride and Prejudice_ by staying up texting. The line was a little blurry.), and yes, he had mentioned spending the day with some good friends. Apparently he hadn't even seen one of them in years before she appeared on his doorstep several days before. And Oliver had still chosen to consistently text Felicity.

Sara gave her a flat look.

"Trust me Smoak. He was being teased."

"Okay, well, doesn't matter either way. No reason to be _crazy_ and assume—"

"Get out your phone," Sara commanded. "You're asking this boy out."

Felicity protested and grumbled as she retrieved her phone and wrote the message, but it was empty hearted at most. She was secretly thankful, because if Sara was telling her to do it Felicity wasn't _technically_ the one at fault if this was a disgusting cosmic joke. Which is _wasn't,_ she reminded herself.

As she stared at the screen, though, Felicity froze up.

"No, I can't do it," she said. She was about to ask Oliver out. This wasn't the easy arrangement they'd fallen into, this was—this was—

"Whoops, you just did," Sara said, forcing Felicity's thumb onto the send button.

Felicity made a strangled noise as she watched the message deliver.

" _You just—"_

"Got you a date," Sara said smugly. "Just wait."

Felicity ripped her eyes from the screen, unsure if she should scream or throw the phone in panic. Her heart was shrieking in her chest and she kind of wanted to bolt from the room like a crazy person on the off chance she could outrun her mortification. She didn't want this she didn't want this _she did not want this—_

"Oooh, he responded," Sara said, leaning over as Felicity's phone buzzed. Felicity snapped her eyes back down, heart freezing completely.

"' _What day do you want to meet and when?'!"_ she half shouted, reading the text aloud. Sara's look of satisfaction would have been unbearable if Felicity hadn't felt so lightheaded from relief.

Sara left the following morning after sleeping on Felicity's couch and filling her with stories of her travels. Sara said that she was off to see her family, and though she tried to sound casual Felicity saw some apprehension in her eyes.

Felicity then spent the next few days in a mild state of giddy panic as she anticipated her date with Oliver. They had texted continuously, and though neither one of them said it aloud they made it _very_ clear this was a real date and not a fake date and she may or may not have spent a solid minute squirming in delight when Oliver said he was eager to see her again.

And then it was New Year's Eve and she was getting ready for a party. A party she was very certain she would never be able to get ready for.

"Oh, this is a bad idea, a bad idea, a _bad idea,_ " Felicity sang to herself as she curled her hair. She had spent the entire night before tossing and turning, the butterflies swarming too thickly in her stomach for sleep. She was excited, absolutely, but her disbelief had come back full force now that the date was about to happen.

Felicity finished curling her hair, just enough to give her normal ponytail the extra date-worthy oomph when combined with the cute little pompadour babump thing she had done. She hurried to her closet, grabbed two pairs of shoes, then went back to her full length mirror. She tested the shoes against her outfit, chewing her cheek. If she wore the black pumps she'd be a little taller and appear more like a lady. If she wore the cream flats she'd be shorter, a touch more little kid-ish. On the other hand, they were also more practical _and_ had the added bonus of adding an extra pop of color to her outfit.

Felicity slipped the cream flats on and reviewed herself in the mirror. She had picked a bright red dress that would have been a strapless sweetheart number if not for the lace giving the illusion of a high neckline. Red dangle earrings, bangles that were a rosy pale metal, and a cream and black clutch completed the look. Her makeup she had left virtually the same as normal, because wasn't it _technically_ their fourth date? And she hadn't dressed to the nines before but had always stayed at a respectable six, so…it was okay to have soft pretty makeup and flats. Yes. This was okay. Good.

Felicity checked the time, then hurried to the door. She had said she would pick Oliver up from his apartment and had fifteen minutes to get across town. Oh, this was a bad idea, _so_ a bad idea…

Felicity managed not to suffer either heart failure or have a panic attack as she drove to Oliver's apartment. Her palms kept sweating, though, and she kept thinking in terrified circles ( _does he think this is a job? no, no, you know he doesn't, this is a date. he kissed me so it's a date. but he kissed me a while on a job. but he doesn't think this is a job, right? no, he said he doesn't…)_ because she was hacking her way into _very_ unknown territory. Wonderful, heart fluttery territory.

She pulled up in front of Oliver's crisp apartment complex, frost clinging to the brick work. Was she supposed to meet him inside? Was texting to say she was there too terse?

Felicity got out of her car. He had only given her his street address and not his apartment number, so maybe he meant to meet her outside…?

She sucked in a breath. She'd text to let him know she was there.

" _Felicity!"_ Oliver called, appearing from the entryway. She looked up at him, an enormous grin spreading across her face at the sound of his voice

"Oliver!" she said, stepping onto the curb to meet him. His smile matched hers, and he reached out to touch her elbow when she was within reach. His eyes were skimming over her, taking in every detail from her flower shaped dangles to the black trim on her shoes.

He looked great. He was wearing dark jeans, a light grey button down, that amazing navy pea coat of his, and shoes that hovered somewhere between boots and dress shoes. Oh, this boy knew how to dress.

Oliver didn't give her time to comment, though, as he leaned in a brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth. Those soft kisses of his were going to be the absolute death of her.

"You look amazing," he whispered, dispelling any fears still hiding in her chest.

"You too, you look—uhm," she stammered, then closed her eyes. "You look great and I'm—I'm really nervous about tonight but in a totally good hope-I-please way." It came out like a confession, something she was worried about him knowing. But Oliver smiled, hand still on her elbow. Screw the party. She honestly could have stood right there with him until the new year.

They got into the car and made small talk as they drove them to the party. She kept stealing glances at Oliver, her nerves transforming into solid giddiness. Oliver went around and opened the door for her when she parked outside of her friend's home, and delighted tremors ran through her stomach.

This was unreal. Oliver Dearden couldn't be real.

He helped her out and walked inside. She loved the feel of his hand resting ever so gently on the small of her back.

"Felicity, hi!" Monica from HR said, beaming when they walked through the door.

"Hi! The place looks _amazing,_ by the way," Felicity said, gesturing at the conservative yet festive decorations.

"Thank you, but _Home and Gardens_ gets all the credit. Who's this?" she asked, turning toward Oliver.

"Oliver Dearden," he said, holding out a hand for her to shake.

"Hi, I'm Monica Juan, your hostess for the night," she said, tone overly formal. Then she slipped back into her normal cheery self. "So we have food in all the rooms, but honestly the dining room has the best, just saying, and the living room has games. We have a Wii set up, but there's also card games and stuff. So enjoy yourselves until the ball drops!"

"There are a lot of people here," Oliver noted after they had discarded their coats (Felicity did not notice the way Oliver's eyes drifted appraisingly over the lace on her dress when she removed her black coat, no she did not) and had begun drifting through the house.

"Mm-hm, Monica's one of those people that knows _everyone,_ " Felicity explained, sipping on a cherry limeade.

"Are they all from work?"

"Oh, some, but I bet she has people from everywhere. She probably would have invited her grocery bagger to the party if she thought they'd be interested."

They wandered through the rooms, picking up snacks and falling into conversations. The party was upbeat and delightful, showing Felicity a side of Oliver that she hadn't seen before. He was charming as always, but the ease with which he handled the crowd was flat out amazing _._ He knew how to work people, how to make everyone turn their eyes to him while he gave his attention to someone else. A couple of her friends from work commented on him while Oliver was distracted by another conversation, expressing congratulations and awe. Felicity just smiled with a shrug, not knowing how to express her great good luck. Scars and all, Oliver was a marvel and for some reason he found her marvelous in return.

When they grew tired of the loud chatter, they retreated to watch some of the games being played. Felicity divided her attention between a game of Uno and Musical Chairs, impressed by the flat ruthlessness of both sets of players. Around ten-thirty she was roped into a tennis match on the Wii, dancing around and swinging the remote in her pretty cocktail dress as she laughed and shrilled how her opponent was _definitely_ cheating (no one could get that many power serves in a row, _no one)._ Oliver laughed and watched from the sidelines, rewarding her triumph with one of those delicious mushroom tarts he had saved from the hordes in the dining room.

"Okay, now I demanded that you play," Felicity said, leaning against him as she ate the tart.

"How about I _don't,"_ Oliver said, watching the next couple of people start bowling.

"Hey, I made an idiot of myself, it's your turn."

"That was your choice."

"Oh, _right,_ " she said, smacking her forehead. "They don't have weird sports like archery or parkour on here."

"I wouldn't play even if they did."

"Oliver, _come on,_ " she said, then marched him over to the guy manning the Wii. "Hey, Zac, was it? Next game, _this guy_ is playing," she said, poking a finger into Oliver's chest. "I don't care what it is, he's playing. Don't let him poop out on this."

"Yes ma'am," Zac said seriously. Then he turned to Oliver, a considerate look on his face. "How do you feel about baseball…?"

Felicity excused herself to get a drink of water and returned just in time to find Oliver standing resignedly before the tv, remote in hand. He had rolled up his shirt sleeves and looked focused as the game started. She watched as Oliver and a girl she recognized from R&D went head to head. Oliver got into the game despite himself, turning quiet and serious as the two of them countered the other's points.

Felicity pulled out her phone and snapped a few shots of Oliver playing. She took several excellent pictures of him swinging or pitching (she was _very_ glad she had documented his body in action…in a totally not gross kinky take-pictures-in-bed kind of way but a family-friendly, look-at-this-Adonis kind of way), and several of R &D girl because she was shorter than even Felicity yet had twice the energy.

Felicity's favorite, though, was taken at the end. R&D girl managed to steal a homerun at the last second, putting her two points ahead of Oliver. He groaned as she danced in triumph, crowing that she 'beat the giant with the fast-as-hell curveball!' Felicity caught a picture of them high-fiving like good sports, the girl's face ecstatic, Oliver's humble congratulation.

"It's kind of loud in here, let's go somewhere a bit quieter," Oliver said after he had given back the Wii remote. The two of them moved through the house until they settled in the kitchen. People walked through, refilling the snack platters or getting water, but the conversation in the other rooms was muted to a dull rumble.

Felicity leaned against the counter, smiling at him. She shouldn't have worried about the date. Everything had turned out beautifully. Oliver liked her and she liked him and even though their relationship had started off weird, things were good.

"What time is it?" she asked, glancing around for a clock. "I want to see if we can watch the ball drop in New York."

Oliver glanced down at his watch.

"It's eleven-eleven," he told her.

"Make a wish," she said softly. Oliver gave her a small smile, tilting his head.

"I'm not really one for making wishes. But you can have mine."

Felicity regarded him, thinking. And just before the microwave clock flicked to eleven-twelve Felicity wished for peace, and strength, and for his happiness.

"Thank you," she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drown me in this. Drown me in this sickeningly adorable fluff until I cease to exist.


	15. at the stroke of midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to again thank the darling Bess for all the work she put into this story. When I first showed her these pages, I was slamming her with three chapters at a time in an effort to make the deadline. Like a champ, she powered through all of them and gave me valuable feedback. What more could I ask for, really?

Oliver enjoyed the lightness of the party. People were talking, watching the show in Times Square, playing card games and video games and talking. From what he had heard, champagne would only make an appearance a few minutes before midnight so they could all toast the new year. Everyone was there to have a good time, but not because of drugs or alcohol or sex. It was all _nice._

Of course, he hadn't really expected Felicity to invite him to anything else. He hadn't really _wanted_ anything else.

As much fun as the party was, though, Oliver found himself craving the crisp quiet of outside. While Felicity tried her hand at the beanbag toss Oliver slipped out to the back porch, listening to the quiet sounds of the world around him. Everything seemed hushed, the people inside, the smokers on the far end of the deck, the cars and planes moving in the city all huddling together to make an almost sleepy background noise.

"Whatcha doin'?" Felicity asked, appearing beside him after a few minutes.

"Just thinking," he said. She had put on her prim black jacket and was carrying his coat.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked, holding his coat out so he could slip into it.

"A little. How did you do in the beanbag toss?"

"Not bad. I won a piece of chocolate," she said, showing a small square wrapped in blue foil. "I'm saving it so I get a fun surprise later," Felicity explained, giving an adorably satisfied smile as she stowed it in her pocket.

"I kind of want to walk," Oliver said, gesturing at the edge of the porch. "Want to come with me?"

"Sure. But it's almost midnight, so if you want to do the toast, I'd wait."

"I've had enough champagne for one life. But you said you wanted to watch the ball drop, didn't you?"

"I think this'll be good," she said, gesturing at the dark.

Monica had neat gravel trails winding all over her yard. The two of them meandered around skeletal Japanese maples and brittle ground cover, then over to sapling pines and evergreen shrubs.

"Oh, these are rhododendrons," Felicity said, reaching out to touch a long, dark leaf. "I wonder what color it blooms. I _love_ the pink and yellow ones."

They walked a little farther, the light of the house just enough to see each other by. Oliver paused under a trellis that was wrapped in the knobbly body of a vine. Felicity gazed around, trying to make out the plants in the dark. She chattered pleasantly, recounting her mother's varied attempts to grow a garden in Las Vegas.

"Is it bad that I'm seriously craving a cinnamon roll right now?" she asked, tilting her head at him. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold and her breathe spun out as silvery flowers in the dark.

"A cinnamon roll?"

"Mm-hm. I mean, Monica's snacks are great, don't get me wrong, I would embarrass myself _horribly_ if I thought I could eat another mushroom tart, but _cinnamon rolls._ "

"Didn't you order one when we first met?" he asked, looking up from where he was kicking a clump of ice down the trail.

"I did," she said, raising her eyebrows in surprise. "They're sort of my weakness. Behind the Lord of the Rings special extended editions and shoe sales. I would do an _unholy_ amount of things for shoe sales."

"Good to know," he laughed, running a lock of her hair through his fingers. She stayed still, a clear expression on her face. She wanted this. He didn't see any of the doubt or anxiety that had existed in her eyes when they had last kissed or when she had sat on his lap or when he acted affectionate to her at her aunt's house. Whatever being with him entailed, Felicity wanted it.

" _Happy New Year!"_ people shouted from the house, and everyone broke into cheers and _Auld Lang Syne._

"Happy New Year, Oliver," Felicity beamed at him.

"Happy New Year."

She looked so _pretty,_ cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes bright from the promise of a fresh start. She hummed _Auld Lang Syne,_ running her fingers over the side of the trellis.

"Felicity?"

"Hm?" She turned around, eyebrows raised as she waited for him to speak.

"Can I kiss you to celebrate the new year?"

She blinked, eyes widening, but then her expression settled into a shy smile.

"I guess that's okay," she whispered.

He smiled back, drinking in her lovely look of happiness. Oliver leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, sweet and soft. She smelled like contentment, warm and welcoming and full of promise. Felicity Smoak was too good a person for someone like him, but here she was, kissing him on New Year's at a party she had asked him to as a date. Just knowing her made his heart swell.

Felicity took his hand when he pulled away, leaning against his side as they walked the path back to the porch. She let out a long, slow breath and watched it swirl up in front of her.

"This is nice," she said, sounding pleased. "This is…just really nice."

Oliver's phone rang in his pocket, making him gesture at her to stop. Felicity nodded and waited, fingers skimming over the needles of a nearby pine.

"Hello?"

"Oliver," Tommy said, his name coming out in a huff. Oliver grinned, touched that Tommy had decided to call him amid his undoubtedly exuberant revels.

"Tommy, hey, Happy New Year. What's—"

" _Oliver,_ " Tommy repeated, and the seriousness in his voice made Oliver stop. "It's Thea. She…she got into a car crash a little while ago."

"What?" he asked, the word practically growled through his shock and worry.

"It's not bad," Tommy said quickly. "She's going to be okay, just a little banged up. She wasn't the one driving, but the person who was…from what I've heard, the driver was either high or drunk."

"And Thea?" he grit out, the reality of the situation catching up with him. Thea in a car crash. Thea in a _car crash._ His _little sister—_

"Stone sober," Tommy said, grim even with the good news. "But she agreed to get in the car, they were all minors, apparently there were drugs on board—"

"How is she?" he demanded, not caring about the implications for her image or even the law.

"She's okay. Feels worse than she is. Some serious bruising, slight concussion, bruised bones, fractured arm—"

"Where is she?"

"We're in Starling General. She's checked in under 'Mia Dearden'."

Oliver hung up, knowing he couldn't speak further, he couldn't see anything more than Thea in a mangled car—

Oliver looked around and found Felicity staring at him. His stomach dropped as panic flooded up through him.

"Oliver, what is it?" she asked, voice steady and low and ready to deal with a crisis. He stared at her for a second, words not making sense in his brain, not enough to describe the terror raging in his bones.

" _Oliver,_ " she repeated, and it was her touch on his arm that snapped him out of it.

"It's—it's my little sister," he said. "She was in a car accident. Felicity, I'm sorry, I need to go—"

" _Car accident?_ " she asked, hurrying to keep pace with him as he moved toward the house. "Is she okay?"

"Yes—I—yes—I don't— _yes,_ " he said. He stopped, fists clenched. He needed to calm down. He needed his business face. He needed a plan rather than just raw emotions to get him to the hospital. "She's okay, but I need to get to Starling General. I'm so sorry, really, but I have to go see—"

"How will you get there?" Felicity asked, grabbing his sleeve to keep him there beside her.

"I'll call a cab and—"

"No, no, don't waste time waiting for one to get here. I'll take you."

Oliver looked down at her. She was tense, mouth set like she expected him to refuse.

"Thank you," he whispered, squeezing her shoulders. He didn't want to be alone. Now that he didn't have to be, he realized just how much he _did not want to be alone._

Felicity relaxed at his acceptance, then gave a quick nod. She held his hand tight as they walked back into the house, making their quick excuses to Monica as they passed her in the hall.

Oliver yanked open the car door and climbed in, trying to make himself stay calm as Felicity pulled into the street.

"You said she was at Starling General?" Felicity asked, speeding out of the residential part of town. Oliver gave a terse nod, not knowing what would come out if he started speaking.

Tommy had said Thea was fine and that she would recover, but Oliver had yet to meet a situation where drugs, car accidents, and minors was considered an okay situation.

 _Was_ she okay, though? How long would it take to heal from whatever injuries she had sustained? Tommy had said she was sober. That was good, sober was good, but he still felt nervous. There had been drugs on board. Had Thea known? Had she been intending to break her promise of staying away from drugs and alcohol, had she stopped heeding his stark warnings? The cop that had found them must have had a field day; Thea and her rich friends crashed into a light pole or car or fire hydrant or who knew what, intoxicated and carrying…anything. It could have been mild as pot or dangerous as Vertigo.

It must have been a while ago, if Tommy was already at the hospital and informed enough to answer Oliver's questions. Was he handling the situation, checking her in under a different name, holding back the police, hiding her from the paparazzi's eyes? Where was Moira, was she at Thea's side or was she off at some benefit, some party where people went only to be seen and commented on? Did she know Oliver was coming?

"We're almost there," Felicity said. He nodded, thrumming his fingers on the armrest. Felicity had made quick work of the distance from the party to the hospital, and soon enough they would be there with Thea—

_They._

Oliver froze, then glanced at Felicity. She was scowling at a red light and hadn't noticed his sudden alarm.

Felicity was with him. Felicity, lovely, wonderful, _ignorant_ Felicity was with him, and he was about to go see his sister, _Thea Queen._ The two sides of his life, ready to touch at any second, had suddenly come crashing down on him. Felicity didn't know, Felicity had just driven into the hospital parking lot and she didn't _know._

Oliver closed his eyes. He didn't want to do this, _any_ of this. He didn't want to pollute all of the good of what he had with her with the bad of all he had done before. She didn't need to be pulled into the mess waiting for him behind the hospital doors.

"You…you can drop me off," he tried weakly, hating himself for even saying the words. Felicity half glanced at him as she pulled into the parking lot.

"No, really, Oliver, it's fine. I think…I mean, if _you_ don't mind, I think it'd be good to have someone with you for this." Felicity pulled into a parking space as she spoke, hesitating before opening her door. She wouldn't go in unless he asked, saint that she was. It was his decision. He was his choice and ugly and hateful as it was, he was going to make it.

He nodded at her, dread mixing with his love at her giving him the choice. She threw open her door and hopped out, proffering her hand to him as they started walking. Even as Oliver felt himself being dragged beneath the surface, he found a breathless shred of relief in her touch. He couldn't do this alone. If he had learned _anything_ , it was that he could not do this alone _._ He couldn't walk into that lobby without an anchor because he barely knew who he was or what he wanted anymore, other than to keep Felicity at his side for the rest of his life.

Felicity, who still did not know.

Oliver stopped a few steps away from the automatic doors, tugging Felicity to a standstill. She looked back at him in confusion.

"Before—before we go in there, I need to tell you something," he said, the words sticking to the sides of his throat. He felt nauseous, like his insides were trying to crawl away.

Felicity stared at him with uncertain eyes. "O…kay? What…?"

Oliver closed his eyes, dragged in the breath that would change everything, then let it out again.

"'Dearden' is my mother's last name. My last name is 'Queen'."

Oliver walked through the doors before Felicity could process what he had said, knowing he could not stand the realization stumbling into her eyes. He held her hand tight, keeping hold of her for as long as he could, nervous that she might pull away once it all registered.

"Excuse me," he called to the receptionist, feeling the confident, demanding Queen persona drop back onto his skin so, _so_ easily. Now that he had admitted who he was, it was like breathing.

The receptionist looked up, startled by his tone.

"U-uhm, yes?"

"We're here to see Mia Dearden," he said, staring the woman down. Her eyes widened at the name and she began thumbing through a list before her.

"Sir, who are you two? Ms. Dearden has a _very_ specific list of people that are permitted to—"

"I'm her brother," he snapped.

"I'm sorry, I don't see another 'Dearden' on the list—"

"Oliver!" Tommy called, appearing from the mouth of hallway and hurrying over to them. Oliver turned, a weird mixture of tension and relief snapping through him. He smiled at Tommy and accepted his hug.

"M-Mr. Merlyn, these two— _oh,"_ the receptionist said, finally piecing together Oliver's claim and Tommy's familiarity.

"She's upstairs," Tommy said, gesturing to the staircase. Then he stopped, staring over Oliver's shoulder.

"Who's this?" he asked, voice almost hard. Oliver glanced back at Felicity, who had silently trailed after them.

"This—Tommy, this is my friend, Felicity Smoak. She drove me here. And this," he said, voice lowering, "is my good friend, Tommy Merlyn."

Felicity didn't gasp, or stare, or even break into a stressed ramble. She just held out her hand and said, "It's nice to meet you, Tommy."

Tommy ran another suspicious eye over Felicity as he shook hands with her, unconvinced. Oliver opened his mouth to defend her, but Felicity touched Oliver's arm.

"I'll wait in the cafeteria."

"No, I don't know how long this will take and I don't want to leave you alone." If he let her go now, Oliver doubted he would ever take hold of her again.

"It's okay," Felicity said, backing away. "Keep this whole thing in the family. I'll be in the cafeteria."

Oliver watched her for a long moment, trying to trust her tired smile. He watched her turn away to the cafeteria, then set his shoulders and moved off with Tommy. Oliver could feel his eyes as they walked, but Oliver cut off any questions Tommy might have had with his own.

"Is my mother here yet?"

"No. I called Moira before you, and she said she had been alerted and was heading over," Tommy said, hitting the button for the elevator. "She was at some New Year's thing with the big wigs or whatever."

"Does Diggle know?"

"Yeah, she said she'd call him right away."

"Okay. Make sure he can get up to the room, I want to talk to him when he gets here."

"Sure thing."

They stepped inside the elevator, Tommy hitting the button for Thea's floor. Oliver stared at the doors, leg jumping as he waited for them to open again. Everything seemed to scrape against his skin; the sterile smell, the whisper of patients and nurses and doctors, the soft squeak of shoes on the floor. Half an hour ago he had been in a garden kissing Felicity. Where had things all gone wrong?

 _The_ Gambit _sinking,_ a small part of him said. _They just haven't gotten better since._

The elevator doors opened, revealing a new floor of the hospital.

"Her room is there," Tommy said as they stepped out, pointing at a room with a nurse stationed on the outside of it. "I'll, uh, I'll head back down and make sure Diggle gets in okay."

Oliver nodded, recognizing that Tommy was giving him and Thea some privacy. Oliver let out a breath in hopes that it might loosen the knots in his stomach and nodded at Tommy. He had done so much for Oliver already.

"Tommy, did you…was all of this you? Checking Thea in under a false name, the lack of press…?"

"Yeah," Tommy said, shrugging as he turned around, like it really wasn't important. Oliver watched him, yet again fighting for words to describe something he couldn't hope to express. Tommy had been the brother that Oliver should have been, all without being asked. He had tended this family more than Oliver probably knew, or ever _would_ know. Somewhere along the line Tommy had stopped being his partner in crime and had begun to fit into that patchwork thing Oliver called a family.

"Thank you," he whispered, trying to pack every single bit of gratitude he could into those two words. Tommy watched him for a long moment, then broke into his normal little boy grin and clapped Oliver on the back.

"You were always there for me in tough times, it's only right I'm here in return. And, besides," he added, tone becoming softer as a more genuine smile appeared in his voice, "I got you, Oliver. Don't you ever forget that."

He nodded at Oliver one last time, then walked back down the hall. Oliver noticed that Tommy took the longer, slower route of the stairs.

Oliver walked to Thea's room and gave the nurse a nod.

"How is she?" he asked, not looking away from the window peering into the hospital room. Thea was staring glumly out of the window overlooking the city, unimpressed by Starling's dazzle.

"Miserable. But she was polite when we took care of her, so that's something." The nurse was staring at him, Oliver knew. He was attaching a name to his face, one that had been absent from tabloids for five years. One that had been absent from the world for five years.

Oliver closed his eyes, took another steadying breath, then opened the door to Thea's room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think I'm sorry...I'm not.


	16. this love has never faded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because i love you, you get TWO chapters.

Thea looked around as he walked in, eyes tired. The absolute shock on her face when she recognized him made her look infinitely younger, despite the bruising and smudged makeup.

" _Ollie?_!"

He gave her a weak smile. "Hey, Speedy."

"What're—what're you doing here?!" She did not sound relieved and excited to see him. He didn't deserve relieved and excited.

"I wanted to check in on you."

"I thought things were too _complicated_ for that." Even with a split lip and the strong beginnings of a black eye, that girl could still snarl.

Oliver watched her for a moment, weighing the quick anger in her voice. "How…are you?"

"Confused and pissed the hell off!"

"Thea—"

"You made it clear that you didn't care about us, so there's no reason for you to start now. Go on, Oliver, go ahead and disappear again. No one's gonna try and stop you this time."

He looked away but didn't move. She kept glaring at him, daring him to speak. He was here, he had to do this. He could _not_ leave her again. Not like this.

"Thea, I...I came here to make sure you were okay. I don't want to talk about why I left."

"No, that'd be _too easy,_ wouldn't it? You want to just show up and then leave whenever it suits you. It doesn't _work_ like that, Oliver!"

"Thea, I'm not—I wasn't trying to _abandon_ you!" he snapped, irritation and resentment bubbling up in his chest. He bit his cheek at the look in her eyes.

"Five years of nothing, Ollie, _nothing._ You were _gone_! It was like you were _dead_. And yeah, you sent me _letters_ ," she said, cutting off his protest, "but letters aren't enough to make up for _not having a big brother!"_ She was screaming at him, straining forward in her anger. She even went so far as to grab a paper cup from beside her bed and hurl it at him. It didn't touch him, but the action still hit her intended target.

She slumped back against the headrest, wincing as her battered body protested. Thea tugged angrily at the strap of the sling around her neck, trying to move it off of a particularly tender area.

"Let me—" he began, but she snapped her hand up, holding him back and silencing him in one movement. Oliver hovered awkwardly, eyes scanning the window peering over the city, then glancing at the one into the hallway. The nurse had his head ducked as though reading. Or maybe it was just reflex from Thea's shouting.

"It'll be fine, Thea," he said, hoping to comfort her. She shot him a look as though personally affronted by the words.

"'It'll be _fine'_? How can you even _say_ that? No, it _won't_ , Oliver! Maybe it's because you haven't _been_ here for five years, but everything is _not_ fine. Do you even _see_ what's going on here?! You've been _who_ knows where, Mom's only interests seem to be work and being _disappointed_ with me, and I'm in a freaking _hospital_ because my dipshit ' _friends'_ —the only people 'good enough' for me to be around—are freaking _idiots_ and cope even worse than me! We're not _fine,_ Oliver, so don't you even try to say that! We're not fine."

Oliver swallowed hard at the way Thea's voice crumbled away on the last words, her energy wearing out into a near whisper. And there was the fact that Thea's words only served to mirror Felicity's, because she had called him out on using that phrase as well. She had posed it as an absent observation but it still had raked against the truth, pointing out just how often he repeated the lie.

Because Thea was right. As had become so agonizingly apparent, things had not been fine for years. Oliver had kept running and running and running, trying to lose his problems like he always did. Only, this time he hadn't used drugs or alcohol or sex or partying but a new identity, a new place to live, a thousand new cities and a thousand new chances to be something else.

Except he never _was_ anything else. He was still Oliver Queen at his core, hiding and lying and painting over his past like it might actually turn out fine if he said it over and over and over.

He waited, breath held. Thea was glaring at him, eyes demanding a response, but he didn't have anything to say. They both knew she was right and they both had no idea how to fix it. They chewed on the silence for a moment, trying to find someplace new to go.

"Aren't you going to lecture me about being in a car with drugs, about my crappy friends and crappier decision making skills?" she demanded, staring moodily into a corner.

"Did you know the drugs were there?"

" _No._ "

"Okay."

He sounded so much calmer than he felt. He was trapped, deeply regretting his hasty trip over, because he hadn't prepared himself for accountability. Oliver had barely even recognized what this would mean for him, other than revealing the truth to Felicity. He still didn't know what her knowing meant for him.

"That's _it?_ " Thea demanded, giving him another ugly look. "You're not even bothered enough to be _mad?!"_

"I'm not mad," he said, again so, so calm. "I'm just…" Worried. Stressed. Guilty. Nervous. Ashamed. Relived. Heartbroken.

He looked away, knowing he couldn't finish.

"Who called you?" she asked, practically spitting the words into his face. "Mom's not out there, waiting for you to soften me up, right?"

"Mom's not here yet."

" _Typical._ "

"Thea, she's on her way—"

"Yeah, _sure._ Like _I'm_ more important than looking good in front of the entitled rich people we know."

"She dropped everything and she's coming now."

"How do _you_ know that?"

"Because it's what I did."

Thea's anger seemed to deflate, a little hole poked into her self-righteous balloon. Her eyes softened, but she looked away.

"You've been in Starling for _months,_ " she whispered, and only now could he hear the fragile edge of tears in her voice. "I've waited for _months,_ Ollie. Why didn't you come before? Do you not—"

Thea cut herself off, but he heard the ' _do you not love me_?' anyway.

"It's never been you, Thea," he said gently. "This has never been about you."

She gave a look like ' _I knew **that** from the beginning_ ' but didn't resume yelling. Oliver chanced moving closer.

"This whole thing, it…I swear, Thea, this was never about _you guys._ Just…after the accident, I couldn't—being at the mansion wasn't—being a _Queen_ wasn't—it wasn't something I could do."

"So you _ran away_?"

"Yeah, I did," he said, meeting her eye. Thea looked taken aback by his honesty, but he had been practicing with Felicity and the truth was quick on his tongue and it felt so much better than another evasion or a lie. "I'm sorry about that, I really am. I never meant to hurt you or Mom or Tommy or anyone else. But after what happened I needed space. I needed time that the world wasn't willing to give Oliver Queen, so I took it the only way I could."

"By disappearing into the night after having a shouting match with Mom? Do you even _know_ what that _did_ to her? Five years, Ollie, five years and I don't think she's _ever_ recovered. The way she looks at me sometimes, it's like she's waiting for me to do the same, to run off with Roy because _you_ set the golden standard."

Oliver grit his teeth but didn't look away. Thea looked desperate, almost panting as she hurled accusation after condemnation. It was like she was afraid he was going to vanish at any second, and she needed to get it all out while she could.

"I coped the only way I knew how."

"And how was _that?_ Sipping tequilas in Cancun, skinny dipping with heiresses in Mykonos? Yeah, _real_ great coping mechanism."

"Actually, it's not," he said quietly. Thea stared at him, almost shocked by his confession. "And I didn't do any of that. Not after I left."

"Then what've you been doing?" Thea asked, the hostility dying from her voice. He glanced around the room, searching for a way to say 'scraping by' and not make it sound bad.

"A little bit of everything."

Thea groaned and tossed her non-injured arm into the air, irritated by his evasive answer. Oliver wasn't ready to let her know those secrets just yet.

"Are you okay though?" he asked, once he was certain she wouldn't start yelling again.

"My arm's fractured, I have a concussion, left half of my body's banged up from hitting the car door, back's out of whack from Jessica ramming into me," she recited, a stream of meaningless injuries falling from her tongue "The others are worse, though," she added, almost to herself. "Drake…wasn't wearing his seatbelt and all sorts of bones were broken, Ashtin was driving and she—there was a lot of blood."

Oliver stared at her, every aching bone in his body wanting to wipe that deadness from her voice. It sounded like his, when he had been soaked and freezing and covered in wounds and stammering _the boat just went down, it just went down and I—where's my dad, I need my dad, he's out there, he's_ **_out there_** _._

"Why did you get in the car if—"

"I didn't know," she murmured. "I'd never met Ashtin, Jessica just said she was grabbing a ride to a club, I didn't—I wanted to get out. When I saw how she was driving, I wanted her to pull over, let me drive, do something. But she said no and she wouldn't stop and we—" Thea bit the words off, hiding her face from him. He waited as she stared at the sheets.

"We crashed because she was arguing with me," Thea confessed after a few long moments. "She turned around to look at me and jerked the car off the road."

"This isn't your fault, Thea," he said, moving forward and pulling her into the gentlest hug he could manage. Thea folded into him, face pressed into his stomach as she wrapped an arm around him, hand clenching into his shirt.

It didn't feel real. Hugging his sister didn't feel real, because for so long she had been nothing more than paper and photographs and ink.

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut on the tears threatening to fall.

"I missed you, Oliver," she breathed. He felt her tears pressing through the fabric of his collared shirt. He swallowed hard, trying to breathe through the moment. He almost completely broke when Thea whispered, "Was this what it was like after the boat sank?"

He clenched his teeth, not knowing how to answer but also knowing that he had to. Oliver opened his mouth, breath catching in his throat.

"Yeah, Speedy, this was what it was like."

After a few moments they let each other go. Oliver found another paper cup for Thea and poured her a drink of water. They were both quiet, using the moment to compose themselves.

"Did you see Roy out there?" Thea asked after a beat, nervously watching her cup.

"Roy? No," he said, thinking of the rugged looking teen that inhabited Thea's letters and photos. Thea's expression dropped, prompting him to add, "They're probably limiting it to family only, right now."

" _Tommy's_ here."

" _Tommy_ is also a billionaire, like us."

Thea threw him a look, shooting out something about money not making a person, but he waved his hand to cut her off. He knew that better than anyone in the building.

"I'll make sure he comes and sees you tomorrow."

Thea stared at him with a look of complete surprise, which then morphed into weathered excitement.

"You're gonna love him, Ollie, he pretends he's tough but he's really sweet and he's completely chill with me being rich, that's got nothing to do with why he's with me at _all_ and—"

"Hold on," he said, raising a hand. "I said I'd get him in, no promises about _liking_ him." But Thea was still beaming at him, radiant underneath her injuries.

" _Thank you,_ Oliver," she said softly, appreciating the gesture more than she should have.

A knock on the door made them look around. Diggle opened the door, wearing his work face.

"Oliver," he said, and Oliver nodded.

"I'll be out in a sec, Digg." Diggle nodded and backed out, the door clicking shut behind him.

"' _Digg?_ '" Thea asked. "When did _you two_ get all chummy?"

"After the accident. I'll be back in a bit, okay?"

"Okay," she said, suddenly reluctant as he left the room.

"Is she alright?" Diggle asked once Oliver had closed the door behind him.

"She will be."

"Gotta say, I'm kind of surprised you're here."

"I plan to be gone in a minute," Oliver said grimly, still not ready to think what his sudden reappearance meant for his brittle plans. "I just wanted to make sure Thea was okay."

"I respect that," Diggle said, and though his tone as light, Oliver felt just how much he meant it.

"Make sure that Roy gets called tomorrow morning," Oliver said. "I don't want my mother blocking him out."

"What're you going to do?"

"Go home."

"Oliver, that's not what I—"

"I _know,_ Diggle! I know," he said, anxiety making him snap. "But that is as _far_ as I've gotten. This…" He let out a long sigh. "I need to get going, Felicity's waiting in the cafeter—"

" _Oliver?"_

He felt his stomach drop before he turned to see his mother sweeping down the hall, still in her evening dress. Her coat billowed behind her, making Moira look even more majestic than usual. He saw beneath the pearls and light blue designer dress, though, saw the panic and confusion and apprehension hiding in the darker corners of her eyes.

"…Go check on Felicity, Digg. I'll be down in a bit," he said, turning to face his mother. Diggle murmured assent and walked toward the elevator, nodding at Moira as he passed.

"Oliver, I didn't expect you to be here," she said, like they had bumped into each other at the grocery store or café. Or benefit or pretentious luncheon, he reminded himself, because Moira Queen did not do common areas.

"I came as soon as I heard."

"Me too," she sighed, cool mask falling for a moment. "Hank Weisz was in the middle of a speech when I walked out."

The Queens all showed their love in very different ways, Oliver thought. Thea yelled, Moira flipped important people off in times of crisis, and he…ran away?

"How is she?" Moira asked, straining to see into Thea's room.

"She'll be okay."

"Yes, the doctors told me. But how _is_ she?"

"Guilty, mostly. She was arguing with the driver when they—"

"Why she got in that car in the _first place,_ " Moira said, pursing her lips. "Really, she has been acting unbelievably for a long time now, with her Glades boyfriend and skipping school to spend time with _who_ knows what kind of people, but a car with _drugs?"_

"She didn't know," Oliver said, annoyed at the propriety in his mother's voice. "But she could tell something was off. That's why she wanted to get _out."_

"Well," Moira sniffed, "I just do not approve of the people she's associating with."

"Like her boyfriend?" Oliver asked, Thea's inordinate delight at the mention of seeing Roy heavy on his mind. Moira blinked, taken aback.

"I don't see how any of this applies, but _yes,_ if you must know."

"She wasn't _with_ Roy, she was with some spoiled _rich kids,_ "

"Oliver, I do not think this is the time or place—"

"When're you going to see me again, Mom?!" he demanded, staring her down. "When are we _ever_ going to get to talk about this?"

Moira stared at him, blinking rapidly.

" _That_ has nothing to do with me," she said, hissing the words out. Then her gaze settled on something past his shoulder, and she called, " _Excuse me,_ but might you give us a moment?"

The nurse jumped up from his seat and hurried away down the hall.

"How dare you say that to me," Moira said, slicing her gaze back to Oliver. Her eyes were a cold, cold blue. "How _dare_ you blame me for that."

"I'm _blaming_ you for the way you treat Roy," he said, voice deadly cold in response. It was like she pulled it out of him, the Queen efficiency at cutting people down. "As long as someone has a few million or a big connection to their name, they're okay with you."

"That is _not true,_ " she snapped. " _Roy_ is not welcome in my home because he is a _thief_ with charges of _assault_ to his name."

"Afraid he'll steal the silverware?" he asked, because Moira had not shocked him with the news. Thea had told him in her letters, the truth trickling out months prior.

"No, I'm afraid he'll—"

"Muddle your good name? Be seen with Thea and be laughed at?"

"I'm afraid he'll _hurt her!_ Which _you_ obviously can't say, seeing as you don't seem the least bit bothered by this!"

"Because _he_ sure as hell is the one toting drugs around her and getting her sent to the hospital."

Moira, to her credit, looked away.

"What _happened_ to you, Oliver? You spend five years _heaven_ knows where, and you come back to defend _thugs_ dating your sister?"

"I came here to check on _Thea._ "

"Where have you _been_ , Oliver? What have you been doing?" Moira asked, and Oliver's skin prickled.

Here was the judgment he had been trying to avoid for so long, the disappointment and lectures on how he lived his life. He had failed because he wasn't the perfect polished son, wasn't standing politely for the cameras to finish casting him in whatever light they wanted. But that was the thing—Oliver Queen had _never_ been the perfect son. He had been lazy, selfish, and irresponsible, and then surly and defiant after the accident. And Oliver Dearden had never been a son at all.

Then Oliver saw the look in Moira's eyes, the desperation to know so plain in her face. She wasn't asking so she could lecture him over it, she was asking because she _did not know._

"Trying to figure out what I'm doing," he said, the truth startled from his lips. Moira stared at him, then looked away again.

 _"Postcards,_ " she said finally. "Five years and I get _postcards._ Thea gets letters, _Tommy_ gets phone calls, even Mr. Diggle seems to have more contact than me, judging by the way you two were speaking when I came up."

Oliver grimaced, wishing his mother hadn't known all of that.

"What have I done wrong, Oliver?" Moira asked, turning to face him. One hand was on her lips, the other cutting through the air as if laying all her actions before him. "What did I _do_ to make you never want to see me? I tried to make up for it, I tried to help you the best I could!"

Oliver stayed quiet, not sure how to answer.

"Oliver, _please,_ " she begged. He had never hated himself so much as when he saw there were actual tears in his mother's eyes. " _Why_ do you hate me?"

He swallowed, looking away. He couldn't do this, he couldn't stand there and listen to the pain he had been outrunning for years.

"I don't _hate_ you," he said, words jerky. "I just—" He licked his lips, needing her to stop _staring_ at him. "I can't be what you want."

"And what is that? A son that actually _speaks_ to me?"

"The heir to all of this," he said, shaking his head.

"That's your _right,_ " Moira said, staring at him. "I never forced you—"

"I never _wanted_ it!" he said, voice rising. He clenched his teeth and bit it back down. "I _never_ wanted to sit at a desk and rule the world a thousand feet in the air. I don't _want_ that."

"So what _do_ you want?" she demanded, and Oliver looked away. Five years and he didn't know. Except Felicity came to mind.

Moira shook her head at his silence.

"Oliver…your father wanted you to take over after he died. I'm sorry if it seemed too abrupt after he passed, but that was the only way I knew how to deal with everything. Work was just...easier to handle than family."

"You're wrong."

"What?"

"You're wrong."

"About work?"

"About Dad." Oliver looked his mother in the eye, wondering if this was simply a tale she had to tell or if she genuinely believed it. "He might have liked for me to take over for him, but he didn't _want_ me to."

"Oliver, maybe you misunderstood hi—"

" _No_ , Mom, I understood fine. That night on the yacht, he _told_ me."

"I—I—well—that was—" Moira scrambled, thrown off balance by suddenly hearing about what had happened on the _Gambit._

"I was an entitled, unmotivated, selfish jerk. He didn't want that running his company! When he found out I tried to sneak Sara onto the boat, he lost it. He _told_ me if I didn't change I'd go _nowhere!_ We were yelling at each other when the boat went down."

The last things he had said to his father had been defensive, angry, uncaring. And then they were pleas for Robert not to drown.

Moira dropped her eyes to the floor. "I didn't…I didn't know that."

"No, because I was too ashamed to tell anyone."

"But if that's the reason why—"

" _No,_ it's not! I don't want to be a Queen, high above everyone else! I want to be _with_ people, I want to see how their lives work, what _actually_ makes things better for them. I want to help this city with my own hands," he said, desperate and never having heard the words before but knowing in his gut they were true. "So many things have _failed_ people here, all over. I want to fix that. That's what I've been doing for five years. Learning what it's like to work and fight and see what needs to be done."

Moira watched him with a level, unreadable gaze. He felt suddenly exposed, worried that this too would not be enough for her.

"Well, Oliver, I—" She dropped her head, and Oliver appreciated just how rare it was for Moira Queen to be speechless. When she looked up the mask was gone and a tender pride filled her face. "I'm happy you have done something fulfilling with your life. Those…those all sound like very noble goals."

He watched her, uncertain. That can't have been it. Moira touched him on the shoulder and then she was hugging him, melting in a way Queens had never had a right to. But maybe Deardens had.

 _Thank you,_ he thought, closing his eyes as he hugged his mother for the first time in years, _Thank you for giving this to me._

"Mom, I need to go," he said when she pulled away. "Felicity's waiting for me in the—"

"Felicity?" she asked, frowning. "Who is Felicity?"

"She gave me a ride here," he said, not ready to delve into the subject and have another argument to soon. Moira's look sharpened.

"Gave you a ride? Does she know?"

"Now she does," he said. She pursed her lips but held back the words she wanted to say.

"Okay, go on," she said. "Best not to keep her waiting."

Oliver nodded and backed toward Thea's room again.

"Hey, Thea," he said, stepping inside. "I'm heading out."

"O-oh," Thea said, not as practiced at hiding her feelings as the rest of her family needed to be. "Uhm, okay, then I'll…see you later?"

"I'll stop by tomorrow, see this boyfriend you keep writing about."

Thea grinned at him, all sorts of relief flooding her face. It hurt to see that she needed to confirm that he actually would come back. But then again, it was supposed to. He couldn't vanish for five years and not have repercussions.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead."Bye, Thea."

"Bye, Ollie. See you tomorrow," she whispered.

He touched his mother's arm as he eased by and headed for the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Queens. I love Oliver, I love Thea, and I love Moira. I love how they interact and the special nuances of each relationship, I love how close they are, I love the trust and the secrets and the intrinsic influence they have each other. I love them.


	17. if only, beloved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters. Just all around one of my favorites.
> 
> (and thank you all so much for the love and attention this story has received, you have all touched my heart)

Felicity stared at her tablet, trying to process everything. Her brain kept zipping around, trying desperately to understand. Oliver Queen. _Oliver Queen._ Oliver was _Oliver Queen._

She had searched for Moira Queen first, confirming that _yes,_ her maiden name was Dearden. Then she got stuck on the regal, imposing figure she cut next to senators, business moguls, celebrities. Moira Queen.

Then she searched for Oliver Queen.

Immediately Felicity's browser was inundated with tabloid feeds, some dating back almost ten years. Tales of Oliver Queen, party prince of Starling, were screamed out at her. They started with reports of public indecency and intoxication, then trailed into streams of photos of him next to tall, leggy models.

Felicity allowed herself a single moment of panic-inducing envy over these women, then mentally slapped herself in the face. There was no point in comparing herself to them. _No use._ And, shallow though it may have undoubtedly been, Felicity had the thousands of little moments Oliver had placed in her hands. Those women couldn't claim the sweet solitude of taking a nap with him, or being stuck in a snow bank together, or having him look so sorry as she stepped back and let him deal with his family alone.

Oliver Queen had trusted her with himself before he had trusted her with his name.

She kept scrolling, recalling the scandals and who's who articles she had seen while in college. They weren't good. And then midway through the page she found a stark headline from five years prior.

_Boating Accident Kills Billionaire, Survived by Son_

The story had shaken the media world, telling how the _Queen's Gambit_ had sunk from a freak mechanical failure and how everyone on board had been killed. Except Oliver.

The hard defiance in Oliver's eyes when he mentioned his dead father rang back at her, the cool façade he cast over himself as he recalled the tragedy. That explained the scars, she realized. She had read somewhere that Oliver had been seriously injured in the accident, making his escape even more miraculous.

Oliver Queen, the reclusive billionaire that had survived tragedy only to become an escort.

Felicity flicked through a few more pages, then put her head down on the table. She couldn't do this. _Oliver Queen._ He had disappeared five years ago, dropping off the radar completely. Traveling to New York, Miami, Toronto, exploring the world and getting that legendary Chinatown knowledge.

She felt her lips tug into a smile at the thought. Then she wanted to gag for being able to joke about his suffering.

 _He would be running Queen Consolidated by now,_ Felicity thought, then gasped out loud.

Oliver Queen, heir to the QC throne. He was technically her _boss,_ and she had hired him to be her boyfriend. Felicity groaned and hid her head beneath her arms, recalling all of the _stupid,_ mortifying things she had told him. This was impossible, her life was impossible.

"Things that bad?" a man asked. Felicity straightened, pushing her glasses up her nose. Standing before her was a tall black man, clad in a leather jacket and a serious look.

"I've had better and worse," she said, shrugging. She couldn't actually _think_ of worse, but Felicity was certain there had to be _something._

"John Diggle," he said, sticking out his hand. "Head of Queen family security."

Felicity nodded, feeling exhausted as she shook it.

"Here to arrest me for blowing up Twitter with Oliver Queen sightings?" Felicity asked, then closed her eyes. She didn't need to see John's hard look to know that was an awful, awful joke. "That's totally not what I've been doing, I swear, check my history! I've just been reading about how Oliver peed on a cop car."

_Worse, worse, worse._

"I was sent by Mr. Queen to check on you."

"I haven't run away."

"I don't think that was what he was worried about."

Felicity watched at him for a long moment. John stared her down in return, then pointed at a chair. "May I?"

She nodded again, shifting nervously in her seat. Was this where he carefully threatened her not to do anything stupid, slapped her with legal papers and threats? What exactly did ' _head of security_ ' mean?

"How are you holding up?" he asked, making her freeze. His serious, steady look stayed the same, but there was a concern there she hadn't expected.

"I'm…fine?"

John raised an eyebrow. "You don't _look_ fine. You look stressed out because you just realized the guy you've been spending the night with is Oliver Queen."

Felicity put her head in her hands.

"I feel like an idiot. I just— _Oliver Queen._ " More than being embarrassed, Felicity was honestly scared. She may have been slowly forcing herself out of the mentality that boys like Oliver Dearden didn't end up with girls like Felicity Smoak, but _fact_ said that boys like _Oliver Queen_ didn't even know girls like Felicity Smoak existed. Society wouldn't let them.

The thought made her sick.

"Yeah, I know." He said it mildly, like this was a _little_ heartache, a failed test, a bad date, a missed opportunity. Not a chance at something _great_ being ripped away from her hands.

Felicity blinked back tears, trying to calm down. She didn't know that, she didn't know that, she did not _know_ that. But Felicity had just begun to be honest with herself and she wasn't about to quit now. John let her collect herself in silence, scanning the sleepy cafeteria with flat disinterest. She took a shaky breath.

"Is his sister okay?"

John looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. It wasn't judgmental like before. "She'll do alright. Worst she has is a fractured arm."

Felicity nodded, swallowing. "It's good that Oliver's here."

"It is. About time he went home," John said, then shot her a look. She guessed he was appraising whether he should have said that in front of her.

"I told him he should," she offered, then shook her head with a grimace. "I mean, I didn't _know_ who his family was, not that that would matter! But I…I think family is important, no matter what."

John broke into a smile and nodded at her. Felicity looked down at the table, a little less intimidated by this man. She chewed on her cheek, thinking.

"How long have you known Oliver?"

"I've been with the Queen family for seven years."

"So you…" She cleared her throat and looked away.

"Knew him before the accident? Yeah, he was every bit the pain the magazines made him out to be. But he's come through a lot. He's a good man."

Felicity nodded, an agreement half on her lips when something clicked. _John._ Oliver had mentioned John a few times.

"He told me about you!" she blurted, pointing at him. " _You_ were the person he spent Christmas with!"

John broke into another smile, as if pleasantly surprised to have been mentioned by Oliver. "He told me about you, too," he said softly. "You were texting him all Christmas, right?"

"Oh gosh, that sounds so… _puppy love-ish,_ " she groaned, hands jumping up to hide her flush.

"That's okay," John chuckled. "Oliver deserves something good like puppy love."

Felicity nodded, instantly sobered by the devastation of Oliver's life despite the compliment. "I'm glad he has a friend. Oliver…doesn't seem to have very many of those."

"I'm glad he has you, too."

Felicity laughed, embarrassed and touched at the same time. She liked the idea of Oliver _having_ her, like she was something he'd had to work to earn and now had to keep her safe.

She looked away from John as the feeling of being overwhelmed hit her again. Everything in Oliver's life seemed so much bigger now, money and power inflating everything and making her feel very, very small. Oliver may have had to work to earn her, but _she_ probably wouldn't be able to keep _him._ Not even if she traded everything she possessed. She didn't want to lose Oliver, not when it had all felt so _right._

"It was our first date," she said, eyes on the table.

"From what I heard, you two went out much more than that," John said, and he was kind enough to accompany it with a smile. Felicity smiled back, thinking that was such a small comfort. John looked like he was deciding something, then nodded at Felicity.

"Felicity, if you need someone to talk to about this, I am available."

"What?" She looked up at him in confusion.

"This is going to be hard, trust me. No one should have to go through things like this alone. If you need to talk, here's my number." He listed off his phone number and she quickly pulled up her address book to enter in his name. _John Diggle, Head of Queen Security._ It should have meant something more than it did. Yet another part of Oliver's life was entering hers, but Felicity didn't feel the excitement of understanding like she had before in the car, on the swing, lying next to Oliver in bed. She felt dread.

"Uhm, thank you, Mr. Diggle. Or John. Or…I don't know." Felicity slumped back in her chair, pressing a hand to her eyes. She felt so tired.

"Diggle, thank you for looking after her."

Felicity straightened at the sound of Oliver's voice, her insides contracting into a tight clump as she looked at him. He was watching John, expression serious. John nodded and stood up.

"No problem, Oliver. I need to go speak to your mother."

Oliver gave a silent nod, then turned that serious expression to Felicity. She would have flinched if she hadn't been petrified. John left the cafeteria, touching Oliver's shoulder as he passed. Felicity looked down at her tablet, relived to find it had gone to sleep and hidden the ugly news articles.

"Here," he said, holding out a small plastic container. "I thought you might be hungry."

Felicity took it, mouth opening when she saw it contained a cinnamon roll. He had remembered her idle comment from Monica's garden. Stressed and anxious and tired as he probably was, he had remembered her craving for cinnamon rolls.

"Thank you," she whispered, finding it easier to look at the mountain of cream cheese frosting rather than meet his beautiful, melancholic eyes. "Where'd you get it?"

"There was a café still open nearby."

"That's not much of a way to celebrate New Year's, working a café. But then, we're not really ones to judge," she said, giving a tiny, meaningless laugh.

"There was nothing wrong with the way I celebrated New Year's," he said softly, words making her chest squeeze.

"John said your sister was okay?" she asked. She wouldn't be able to make it through this conversation if he kept watching her that way, like she was something precious that he was in danger of losing. Felicity could certainly _think_ something awful, but having it reaffirmed in the real world made her stomach turn.

"Thea's alright. She got off easy, only person not stoned in the car," he said, anger biting out for a moment. He glanced away, then looked back. The anger wasn't _gone,_ just pressed safely into hiding.

He dragged in a breath, as if prepping himself for what he was going to say next. "I'm sorry you had to wait here."

Felicity shrugged, weak smile on her face."I volunteered. No need to apologize."

They were quiet for a short pause, and Felicity suddenly found herself hoping neither one of them would speak. If they were both silent then they could stay there forever, never moving onto goodbye.

"I was going to tell you," he said quietly. "I would have chosen to tell you."

"Would you, though?" she asked. It wasn't critical, just them falling back into their pattern of honesty and mild observation. Oliver looked at her and didn't say anything. It was a pattern of honesty and yet neither one of them knew if he had just told a lie.

"I can kind of see why you left," she said, voice stilted in a way she hated.

Oliver's expression sharpened, as if he expected her to criticize his family. Her heart broke a little bit at the thought. He didn't say anything, though, allowing her to explain herself.

"Everything's _watching_ you, searching for your next big move. I couldn't live somewhere so hush-hush."

Oliver didn't respond to that, either. Instead, he said, "I'm sorry, I kind of ruined your night."

"No, don't do that to yourself. You went to your sister when she needed you. Again, I volunteered to come along." _I knew you needed someone to face this with,_ she added in her head, because even without knowing what faced Oliver here at the hospital, she had sensed he needed someone by his side.

"I think…they're going to need me a lot, now," he murmured, speaking more to himself than her. He ran a hand through his hair. He seemed lost at the moment, incapable of pulling up a mask and making himself look perfect. It made her even sadder so see him floundering, because this was so obviously more than Oliver thought he could bear.

"I get that," she said, voice gentle. "This is kind of a big thing. You can't just ditch them in their time of need."

"There's not anything I can _do,_ though," he grit out, then pulled in a breath. "I feel useless."

"Being there for family isn't about fixing things, it's about showing that you care," Felicity said, offering him a comforting smile.

Oliver was quiet again, eyes on some far off wall as he thought. Felicity wanted to stand up and hug him until neither one of them could breathe. She was fairly certain he was two words from completely falling apart and he needed _something_ to hold him together. Also, she kind of felt like the world was whooshing past her and he was probably the only thing that could anchor her in all of this impossibility.

"They're going to need me a lot, now," he said again. There was something different about the way he said it this time. She watched him as he turned to her, eyebrows furrowing. "Felicity, I can't—I'm not sure that things will go on like before."

She nodded, feeling a smile spread across her face, which made _no sense,_ because she was not happy about this. She felt like she had grabbed for him to slow her descent and he had only given her an extra push. Things wouldn't go on as before. _They_ wouldn't go on as before. Her ugly, accurate thoughts had caught up with the situation. Boys like him, girls like her.

"I…had a feeling," she said, picking at the lip of her plastic container.

"No," he said hurriedly, holding out his hands as if he wanted to physically stop her words. "No, that's not—people have _seen me_ ," Oliver said, the words coming out like a sound of pain. "It's nothing about you and me, it's just…me."

Felicity's head tilted up in twisted, selfish, hope. She thought she knew what he was getting at. People had seen him. Even if the Queens paid the hospital to keep Thea's admittance a secret (which they had, if soap operas had taught her _anything),_ they were under no obligation not to talk about Oliver making an appearance. Oliver Queen, back from Bermuda or Switzerland or Japan or wherever the hell the tabloids speculated he was at the moment. Oliver Queen returned to Starling, returned to make life interesting. Oliver Queen, the favored prey of the world returning to his hunting ground.

"I just don't see a way that I can be here for my family and not—the world's going to be looking for things. And with you…"

"It would look really ugly," she said, the hope quietly dying away as she thought things through. "I'm a nobody, I work for your family, and how we met is going to be a breeding ground for awful."

"I don't want you caught up in that," he whispered, again staring at her like she was something tumbling through his fingers. "I couldn't do that to you."

Felicity nodded, licked her lips, fought for time. Her and her genius brain were stumbling through the same brutal facts, but the only conclusion she could come up with was that this would never work. She wanted to find solutions, wanted to diplomatically problem solve her way through the issue, but she had _nothing._ They couldn't fight the headlines, not the kind that would undoubtedly chase Oliver around. They flashed in her head, painting hideous pictures of the two of them. She was a gold digger, a social climber, a black mailer, a hack. He was a fool, a layabout, a disappointment, a wreck. It would be awful. Any of their accomplishments would be blotted out in favor of a splashy story.

"And there's nothing else…?"

"No. Not if they're looking for Oliver Queen." Oliver's mouth twisted into a jagged line when he said his name like it left a bad taste.

"This sucks," she half laughed. She didn't have the energy for being upset. "I just…really would have liked this to work. I don't even _want_ Oliver Queen, you know? I never liked you because of your _name._ I don't want any of that."

Oliver snapped his eyes up to the ceiling and dragged in a breath like this was an unexpected dagger in the chest, like this was it, this was his breaking point, this was the moment he finally let himself cry.

"I didn't mean it like I don't want you _now,_ " she added quickly, fearing he thought the worst. "I only meant that I was about something a little more real, that you—"

"I get what you mean," he said, voice soft enough to be devastating. He was still staring at the ceiling. When he looked down at her, though, she thought she saw a shred of something else.

"It doesn't _have_ to be you and Oliver Queen," he whispered, and then he was talk fast like he wanted to get everything out before someone overheard. "We could leave, Felicity. All of those sightings could just be rumors, we could go someplace new and not have to worry about any of it. We could still be…"

He trailed off and all of a sudden his travels made a bit more sense to her. It had never been about finding new places and people and experiences for him. Not completely. That was why his answers to those questions had always seemed so stilted, so terse and almost defensive compared to the rest of his flawless honesty. He hadn't been exploring, he had been running. Running from his family, his responsibilities, his city, his suffering, his name.

Even though Felicity understood the appeal, there was something in her stomach that said she _really_ didn't understand why someone would want to vanish into the night. She had left places before, certainly, but she hadn't been fleeing her life. She moved on, she dealt with her problems and recovered. Yes, she had escaped her suffocating childhood in Vegas, but that had been to find bigger and better things, not to hide.

And that was what Oliver was asking her to do. He was asking her to take his hand and walk out of that hospital and pack up her things and leave her job and find a new life and never look back. He was asking her to stay with him. It wasn't like it would be a very hard thing to do. She didn't have any close friends in Starling, her job was mind numbingly basic despite the beautiful promises of tomorrow, her apartment was like a thousand others in the country. She could leave so, _so_ easily. She could hold tight to Oliver and go. He would slow down for her first few stumbling steps, and then Felicity knew their wandering would be effortless and graceful.

It would be _so easy_ to run away with him.

But Felicity wasn't really the type to run. She couldn't condone him abandoning his family. And she was not ready to accept the tightly guarded secrets Oliver held in his eyes.

She dragged in a breath, hating how shaky it was.

"You can't do that to your family, Oliver," she whispered. He shook his head.

"They've lasted this long without me," Oliver said, leaning forward and taking her hand like that was all he needed to convince her, like she was a nod away from getting to her feet and walking out the door with him, like they were already on their way to disappearing. "We can do it, Felicity, I don't want to lose you because of something so _stupid_ as who I was in the past."

"Oliver—"

"It'll be _fine,_ " he said, then froze. He grimaced slightly, like he had tasted something bitter on his tongue. Olive pulled back, making himself seem small even though he still towered over her. "You're right. I can't…that's not something I can ask of you."

Felicity stood, suddenly needing to move. She couldn't stay in that oppressive, sad place any longer, not with those words laying on her skin.

"It's…it's late," she mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes even as they bore into her.

"I never meant to trick or deceive you," he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. He leaned forward as though to grab her again, like he could keep her there and make her believe. She looked into his eyes, hating his desperation but also loving it. At least she could never doubt that he cared.

"No, of course not," Felicity shook her head, a sad smile on her face. "This decision was never about me."

"Felicity…"

"Was this why you were so afraid to patching things up with your family?"

He watched her for a long moment, then glanced away. "Oliver Queen is…not a person anyone should be. This isn't a life anyone should _have_ to live."

"I think we both know this…" _Can't continue. Wouldn't work out. Is too tragic for words. Would have made me very happy._

"Please," Oliver whispered, "don't."

Felicity chewed her lip. She had to do this. She would hate herself and feel miserable but she _had to do this._ She could do this. Felicity only had to turn her brain off and not notice the way Oliver looked like he might collapse if she left.

"It's not fair for you to disappear again," she said. "Your family needs you."

"But _I_ need you," he told her, just soft enough to break her heart.

"But I can't stay."

Oliver stared at her, hopelessly searching for reasons why she should. She cleared her throat, giving them both a minute, then straightened.

"I…I should get home. Do you need a ride…?"

"I'll get a cab," he murmured. The deadness in his eyes said he didn't feel the words at all.

Felicity went up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his chest. He froze, then stooped and hugged her, fierce enough to hurt. It would have, had she been able to feel anything past the ache under her ribs. When she tried to pull away his hands tightened on her coat, trying to keep her there just a moment longer. Felicity gasped in a breath, hating the way her tears were audible in her voice. She bit her cheeks, forcing herself to stay calm, forcing herself to stay strong. Oliver loosened his grip and she let go. It took a hard swallow for her to get the words out.

"Good-good-bye, Oliver."

"Please," he said, "please don't say that to me."

She smiled, refusing to show him any tears and make this worse. Felicity pressed a hand against his cheek. She almost broke when he tilted his head into the touch, eyes closing as he soaked up this last farewell.

"Be safe," she told him. Felicity pulled her hand back, caught her breath, and turned away. She could see him watching her in the reflection of the glass door, silently begging her to come back.

Felicity sat in her car and cried for a long time before she drove herself home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just let me have it.


	18. drifting on home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, thank you everyone for your wonderful response to the last chapter. I know a LOT of you were shaking your fists and cursing my name (you told me as much), but amidst all of that you gave me some genuinely delightful comments. It sounds sadistic, but it's always a delight to know that my writing is enough to move you guys to such excitement and frustration.
> 
> I hope you can enjoy the next few chapters after that heartbreak!

As promised, Oliver visited Thea again the following day. Roy was there, sitting at her side and teasing her in a way Thea's rich friends never did. Oliver liked seeing Thea smile so much.

"Ollie!" she cheered when she saw him enter the room. Roy stiffened, but had fallen into haughty defiance by the time he looked at Oliver.

"Hey, Speedy," Oliver said, then turned his eyes to the boy. "And you're Roy Harper?"

"Yeah," he said, fists stabbed into his pockets as he slouched before Oliver's gaze. Oliver held out his hand.

"I'm Oliver. Thea's told me a lot about you."

Roy melted for a moment as he glanced back at Thea in surprise. He was exactly what Oliver expected—hardened by the streets to be smart and ready to mess someone up if they had a problem with him. But also very touched by any sort of acceptance.

Oliver stayed for a while, talking to actually get to know Roy. It was a novel experience, completely different from the endless flattery he handed out to clients and less intense than the brutal honesty he had held with Felicity. It was probably how normal people talked to each other.

After twenty minutes, Roy seemed to have plucked up the nerve to demand, "Where've you been all this time?"

The streets, it seemed, also taught him to be nothing but blunt.

"Away," Oliver said with an annoyingly blank smile. The last person he had told his recent past was Felicity, mentioning the cities and sights and sounds that made him feel alive. He wasn't quite ready to go handing such sacred information out to anyone that asked.

Roy accepted the evasion, though, giving him a slow nod and then trundling on to tease Thea a bit more. He was kind to her, honest and sweet and everything Oliver _knew_ he could have been with Felicity.

The thought made his heart stick.

* * *

Knowing he was now morally obligated to visit his mother Oliver turned up at the mansion the following Saturday before she had time to glide away to some event. The person that answered when he buzzed the gate had been surprised when he said "I'm here to see my mother", but opened the gate without much delay. Diggle had briefed his team, then.

The mansion hadn't changed, not really. It was still grand, imposing, and luxurious in a way modern buildings weren't allowed to be. The stone columns and stunningly carved statues were perfect, giving the impression of warmth and power. When he had left all those years ago, roaring down the driveway in the dark, it had been cold and oppressive, a delicious dish that had turned cloying and heavy halfway through. Now the beautiful building felt empty.

Raisa was the first to see him, practically squealing and grabbing a hold of his face when he entered the foyer.

"Oh, Mr. Oliver! I did not know you were coming, your mother mentioned she saw you, but never this!" She broke into a small stream of Russian, thanking God and praising homecomings, making him smile.

" _I have missed you, Raisa,_ " he said, secretly delighted at her shock when he spoke in Russian. Oliver put a hand on her shoulder as her eyes widened and she opened her mouth.

"When did you…?"

"It was a long five years."

"Raisa, what is all of this noise about?" Moira asked, appearing at the top of the steps.

Her expression brightened when she saw Oliver, an incandescent hope on her face that made him so, so guilty. Here she was almost speechless with delight and yet he had honestly proposed leaving her once again, disappearing without a backward glance.

"Oliver, I didn't know you were coming!"

"Surprise visit," he said. This time when she came closer Oliver hugged her.

"I will make all the favorites," Raisa declared. "We shall have a party!"

"That's okay," he said quickly. "I'll just be here for a little bit. We should wait until Thea gets home." Her look of almost ecstatic relief at the mention of him coming back managed to hurt Oliver a little more than he already was.

Oliver sat with his mother in one of the lounges downstairs. At first it was a little awkward, but then some reservation inside him broke and they began talking. Whether it was because he felt numb or because she deserved this or the answers had simply been waiting to come out for so long, Oliver told his mother about what he had done in the last five years. He talked about how Diggle had helped him find his feet, about paying rent, doing laundry, cooking, buying clothes, being a normal person. He talked about fish markets and farms and plumbing and mechanics and parking cars and busing tables. And, when she asked, he told her about being an escort, finally voicing his fundamental reasons for doing something he ended up hating—the pay was better, the work easier, he had been trained to charm and delight people all his life.

Moira blinked and looked away at that. Her laugh was shaky and it made Oliver's throat stop up.

"It makes us sound so cheap when you put it like that," she said, trying to find humor as she bought herself time to blink away tears.

"I was never cheap," he told her and Moira laughed again, this time a little more bitter.

"I promise you, neither was I. But when you talk about all of the things you've been doing, the _life_ you've been living...suddenly the best products and influence and everything, really, that money can buy doesn't seem so wonderful."

Finally, after he had emptied himself of every other secret she had been holding, Oliver told his mother about Felicity. He saw the guarded curiosity in his mother's eyes, the uneasy anticipation. He didn't say much, didn't expound on Felicity's anxiety-induced babbles, Hanukkah, talking with her at the swing, gently handing her bits of his love gift-wrapped in truths about himself. He _did_ mention how kind she was and how they had been at a party together when Tommy had called.

"And what does she think about all of this?" Moira asked, waving a hand at the exquisite room around them.

"She thinks it's best for me to focus on family," he said and looked away.

Moira graciously moved the topic onto his plans for the future, rather than detailing her plan to cover up this catastrophe in the making. She instead latched onto his comments from the hospital about taking care of the city. Oliver was surprised at her clear insistence to help, but the more she encouraged him the more excited he allowed himself to become. He really did want to help Starling, and with his mother's knowledge and influence he might actually be able to.

"I'm going to help you with this, Oliver," Moira said, holding onto his arm like she was afraid he might drift away from her. "I promise you, whatever charity event or business or nonprofit or whatever you want to make, I promise I will help you."

Oliver smiled and nodded his thanks, unaccustomed to receiving help.

When he got up to leave, Moira touched his arm. It was lighter than before, like she was nervous to get his attention.

"You are going to be here when Thea is released, correct?" she asked. She almost hid the worry in her eyes.

"Of course," he said, and kissed her cheek.

* * *

To the world's great shock, Oliver Queen attended the grand opening of Tommy Merlyn's club, Verdant. He appeared in a smooth grey suit (which had been aggressively re-tailored the day before to fit his changed physique) beside his sister (who was sporting heavy makeup to hide the bruising and a Gucci dress that even managed to make her sling look good), the two of them every bit as regal as their name demanded they be.

He was not the boisterous, self-involved party prince he had been, but had instead transformed into a charming, sophisticated smooth-talker that made sure everyone was in for a good time. Those five years had cultured him well. When he heard people half-shout this over the music as he walked by, Oliver felt his stomach clench. He was glad people saw the difference but was also a little bitter that, just as Felicity had said, the world expected him to stay.

Even when he ran into Laurel Oliver handled it with better grace than anyone expected. Their shocked, slack expressions were allowed to speak a moment longer than they should have, but he forced out a smile, said she looked nice, remarked on how he had heard she had become a lawyer and was practically running her firm. She smiled in return (not so practiced at faking, he noticed), thanked him for the compliment, said it was good of him to come support Tommy. And then it was over, the two of them gliding past on a desire to ignore too much history together and a vague hope of finding something better in future. Thea was standing next to Roy a ways away, trying to cover her concern over Oliver's encounter with Laurel. She gave him a questioning look, but he smiled and shook his head. The only person he really wanted to patch things up and move on with was the one person he could not.

The only real upshot of the night was when the music quieted and Tommy took over the microphone. He flattered and teased the crowd, thanked the famed DJ, declared that this was just the first of many awesome nights and he hoped everyone would be there to see all of them. Oliver stood near the front with Thea, Roy, and Laurel, smiling at Tommy's triumph.

"But really, this all couldn't have been done without the help of my best friend, Oliver Queen," Tommy said, making everyone titter and stare. A light snapped on overhead, highlighting Oliver in the crowd. "He stood beside me every step of the way, no matter what happened in my life or his. Thank you, buddy. This one's mine just as much as it is yours."

Oliver nodded and grinned, heart thumping a little harder because even though he was surrounded by people, this moment was all his.

* * *

It was February, and though it occasionally hailed or froze overnight, Starling was soaked with rain. Thea's arm healed without a hitch and they held a small celebration with all of their friends and a few Disney movies. Verdant was a raging success, swept up by the rich clients brought in by Tommy's curb appeal, then sustained by the grittier locals that were thankful for the big name club that hired and used local talent. Oliver had moved out of his apartment before Verdant's opening, crashing with Diggle until he figured out where he wanted to go next. Moira not only preemptively silenced any escort related scandals, but also helped Oliver repair the broken things of the city in smaller ways. He channeled funding into local clinics, sponsored youth correctional programs, and brought attention to the flagging public transportation system. Oliver's improvement plans went forward with leaps and bounds, thanks to his name, resources, and hell bent determination to make things better.

That was perhaps the only way Oliver manged to keep himself in the city, keep himself in the world's spotlight. Despite the big headlines claiming stints in rehab, hopes for further outrageous behavior, and a quick retreat from a European scandal, Oliver was doing good. After his Verdant reveal, Oliver had been absent from the party circuit and soon enough papers picked up on his meetings with city officials, benefits, and charity auctions. Oliver was doing good in a way he had never realized he wanted.

And yet he still didn't feel happy. He spent hours out in the city, trying to find answers in the countless backstreets and neighborhoods. There was a hollow ache in his bones where Felicity had been for a few beautiful hours and nothing could fill it. Not pledges, not the expedited opening of a public clinic, not Thea's hugs or Tommy's claps on the back or Diggle's quiet approval. Nothing.

"Why are you torturing yourself?" Diggle asked near the beginning of March. Oliver looked from an email he was typing on his laptop in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Felicity," he said bluntly. It was like a stone had shot from Oliver's stomach into his throat. He looked back at his computer screen, but Diggle wouldn't let it rest.

"Oliver."

"It's best if we don't…we didn't work out."

"You can't tell me that."

"It's the truth, Diggle," Oliver bit out, not ready to speak about this, not ready to show anyone how raw he was under the veneer of doing things.

"I saw you two, man. Even before I met Felicity I saw the way she made you feel."

Oliver glanced at him over the counter, demanding that he stop it right now. Diggle shook his head, incredulous.

"What didn't work between you two? What was so big to keep you two apart?"

Oliver chewed on the words, grinding his shout into something quiet and controlled.

"Oliver Queen is…not someone she should be with."

"Who decided that?"

"We both just…understood that was the way things were."

"You know that's not good enough. You like her, Oliver. Hell, I'm pretty sure you even love her and I have no doubt she feels the same."

Oliver looked away.

_I have no doubt she feels the same._

It felt like a joke. Hearing something like that should have made his stomach flip from excitement. He should have been panicked out of worry if that were true because he didn't know how to proceed with a real relationship but was hopeful and determined enough to try. But now it only made him bitter. He could have loved Felicity if he were anyone else, if he had any other name. Felicity didn't deserve the scrutiny, criticism, and condemnation that came with money and a name. She was too honest and silly and quirky and wonderful to ever survive the media's gauntlet of attention. She was too good to be cast in the ugly net of his past.

So now his one and only act of love came in the form of not being able to love her at all.

"Oliver…you keep mentioning the problems and shame of Oliver Queen," Diggle said, oblivious to the lump in Oliver's throat that was causing him actual pain. "But…what's wrong with him? From what I've seen he's done a lot of good. And she seemed to like him a lot."

Oliver closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath for the answer he didn't have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said it before and I'll say it again: drown me in Oliver Queen!headspace. Just do it. It's never enough.


	19. business as usual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for those of you wondering what Felicity was up to...

Felicity felt like things were supposed to change after New Year's. Something should have happened, some _thing_ should have knocked on her door, asked for her ID, and then shunted her into a room full of people touched by celebrity. Only, she didn't _feel_ touched by celebrity. In her head, Oliver was the man that had taken a nap beside her, sat with her when they were stuck in the snow, walked around a garden with her because he would rather be alone with her in the dark than in a house full of people. The things she had seen in the hospital were just the sadder parts of anyone's life, even with false names and heads of security and millionaire friends suspicious about nameless hangers on.

Things didn't change, but the weight in her stomach was completely new.

She tried not to notice, tried to act like there was nothing wrong as she got dressed and went to work and talked with friends, she tried she tried she tried. But after the unadulterated honesty she had enjoyed with Oliver, each lie was an ugly tang in her mouth.

She missed Oliver.

The easy version of the truth came out to her friend a few days after New Year's. Caitlin texted her, _So what happened with you and Oliver?_

Felicity looked at her phone for a long moment, then wrote, _Not much. We both went our separate ways in the end._

_Aw, I'm sorry :( ((((hugs))))_

_Yeah. But I have an interesting story at least!_

Maybe she'd tell her grandchildren about how she had dated a billionaire for a day. Felicity smiled at the thought like it didn't have the hard ring of devastation to it.

Sara deserved Felicity bringing up the topic, even though Felicity dreaded it. Sara had been the cause for them meeting, as well as their official cheerleader. She had been almost as invested in them working out as Felicity. So it would only be that much worse to tell her that things had failed.

 _New Year's was really nice, but Oliver and I decided to leave it at that,_ Felicity texted about a week after New Year's.

 _What?_ _Boooo,_ came the instant response, quickly followed by, _You guys would have been so cute together._

_If only, haha. How did seeing your family go?_

_SO GOOD. I was only there for a couple of hours, but I loved seeing my dad & laurel again._

Felicity got the distinct feeling Sara had let the subject out more out of courtesy than belief Felicity told all there was to tell.

* * *

Work was strange, knowing Oliver's name was so high above the door. A part of her panicked at the thought of stumbling into him on the sidewalk or seeing him in the lobby, walking with his mother in a sweep of money and power. She always imagined him surrounded by people like Tommy Merlyn, people that were fun, cultured, and wealthy enough to do whatever they wanted.

But she never worried about him seeking her out, of him going down to IT or waiting on her front step. Even though there had been absolute heartbreak in his eyes when she had said goodbye, she never feared that Oliver Queen would come find her. They both knew what trouble would come of it.

And then a thought stumbled into her head— _what if Mrs. Queen thinks I'm going to blackmail my way to the top?_

Felicity sucked in a breath. She didn't want to _steal_ her advancement, didn't want to have the world question her abilities because she had been fast tracked. Or…or what if Moira _didn't_ expect Felicity to threaten the Queens with tales of their prodigal son being a step away from being a prostitute? What if _she_ wanted to do the threatening, intimidate Felicity into silence?

Felicity had called John to verify (he was her last link to Oliver, and while she never intended to actually use him to get into contact with Oliver, she liked to think maybe she could. Also, John was hilarious in a dry way and completely understood everything she was trying to struggle through.) her worries. He had confirmed that Moira wouldn't sit idly by while a loose end waved at her. He had also said that Oliver wouldn't let Moira do anything drastic, but that had done shockingly little to comfort Felicity.

What could Oliver _really_ do? Moira Queen was _Moira Queen,_ Felicity's boss and holy terror of the socialite world. She could make Felicity miserable with a single word. Felicity was _twenty-two,_ she had all of her life and her career before her, she couldn't afford to let Moira destroy her. And the thought of seeming like a conniving opportunist made her skin crawl.

She had thanked John for his thoughts, and then stayed on the phone as he checked in with her and tried to make her feel better. Oliver really was lucky to have someone like John Diggle in his life.

It took a couple of days and a surge of reckless confidence that let her hire an escort to be her boyfriend, but Felicity took action. She marched herself up to the top floor and made a note with Moira's secretary. The woman gave Felicity a politely incredulous look because Felicity was, in fact, a nameless IT worker asking for a meeting with the big boss. But she made the note, and then Felicity was free to go have her mild panic attack in the privacy of the elevator. If Moira deigned to have a meeting with Felicity, she would have one with her. If not…hopefully she would be ignore-worthy for the rest of her life.

Three days later, Felicity found out she was _not_ ignore-worthy. She received a call from Moira's secretary, saying that she should come upstairs as soon as convenient. Felicity locked her computer in the middle of her project and hurried to the elevator.

Felicity was allowed to wait in the tiny lobby long enough to make her fidgety. Then the secretary gave her permission to walk in.

Moira's office was sleek and intimidating, lots of glass and chrome and _you do not belong._

 _Maybe it was a good thing Oliver and I didn't work out. I could never live with this,_ Felicity thought to herself, then choked a little at the thought. She made herself focus on Moira rather than her failed romance. Beautiful, powerful Moira, a lioness considering the little rabbit that had stumbled into her den.

"Please close the door, Ms. Smoak."

Felicity swallowed, closed the door, then stopped before Moira's desk. Did she have something on her shirt? Was her skirt smooth, had part of it been tucked into her panties when she went to the bathroom? Felicity experienced a few moments of horror before she remembered that totally could not happen with the navy pencil skirt she was wearing.

Moira looked up from the papers she was examining to study Felicity. "Ms. Smoak, I must say this is an…unusual situation."

Felicity blinked, shocked at how much she sounded like Oliver. The first time he had spoken to her he had said almost the exact same thing. The crisp veneer Moira was wearing was exactly like her son, from the cool blue eyes to the reserved confidence. His flawless people skills made so much more sense, now.

"I'm not here to blackmail you," Felicity blurted.

Nope, that had _not_ been the way she wanted to start.

Moira raised an eyebrow, distinctly unimpressed with her so far. Oh, this was not good.

"I don't want to alarm you or anything, Mrs. Queen—"

"You don't."

"—it's just that—excuse me?"

"I said 'you don't'. You don't alarm me, Ms. Smoak. You are just another girl passing by."

Felicity swallowed, trying not to be hurt at the cold dryness in her voice. _Just another girl passing by._ Another girl Oliver was interested in and then not. Only...Felicity _wasn't._ She hadn't passed by, not really. They had met to do business, had a concrete arrangement sealed by lies and money, and now that business was over and it made her heart squeeze but now they would never see each other again. That was what they had agreed on. Everything else was an admittedly nice gift that shouldn't be counted.

"I just…I wanted to be sure we both understood why I'm here," Felicity said, forcing her voice to sound normal. "I…I realize how, uhm, awkward this is, especially with Oliver coming back out to society. Not in a gay coming out way! Just coming…back. You know what I mean."

Ignoring the stream of _'this is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad'_ in her head, Felicity made herself breathe.

"What I meant to say…was that I can tell this is a touchy time. Oliver is the center of a spotlight, your family doesn't need any…bad publicity."

Moira's gaze turned almost steely and Felicity knew this was when she expected incriminating evidence, a sex tape or an invoice for dubious services rendered.

"And what do you want in return?" Moira asked.

Felicity shook her head. "Nothing. I don't want a raise, a better job, or favors, or anything. I'm looking for _nothing._ "

She just wanted to go back to how things were on New Year's Eve, when she and Oliver had kissed and celebrated something new and special. She wanted to go back before January first had begun and Thea had been hurt and Oliver had let her walk away for her own good.

But Moira couldn't grant that, not even with all the money and power that came with being a Queen.

Moira raised an eyebrow, clean surprise lighting her face. She stood up and walked around the desk. Her hand trailed over the top lazily, almost like she didn't care about the subject.

"Ms. Smoak, you…have surprised me. You have come up to my office to _reassure_ me that you expect nothing from me or my family." Moira considered her for a long moment, and Felicity thought she might pass out from how hard her heart was beating. Wouldn't _that_ be a perfect ending to this terrifying mess; Felicity knocking herself out cold from sheer nervousness while Moira called someone to remove her from the office, if not the entire building's premise.

"Ms. Smoak, do you realize what an interesting position you are in?"

"Probably, yeah," Felicity managed, voice barely a squeak.

"Anyone brave enough to come see me _normally_ would have a grand plan to execute."

"My plan's okay at best. And I think I finished it a few minutes ago, so now I'm just winging it."

"Did the thought ever cross your mind?" Moira asked, walking over to a table and pouring herself a drink of water. It looked like a prop, something for her to do so she could continue this… _whatever it was_ without making Felicity feel worthy of her time. It totally, totally worked. "Did you ever consider blackmail?"

" _No,"_ Felicity said, blinking. "I _couldn't_ have. I mean, it's not like I have a sex tape or pictures of me and Oliver or anything that says ' _Oliver Queen is an escort'_ ," she babbled, waving her hands before her as though spreading the nonexistent header between them. "Honestly, we haven't even had sex. That was _sooooo_ not what I hired your son for."

Distantly, Felicity realized what she had said and noticed the distinct lack of horror. It probably had to do with the fact that her brain had almost completely shut down and was now reserving energy for the most vital processes like breathing, blood flow, and talking.

"A bluff is a powerful yet dangerous thing, Ms. Smoak. It involves a great risk on either party's behalf." Moira took a delicate sip of water, now completely immune to Felicity's rambling. She set her glass down and speared Felicity with a look. "What if you grow bored with your silence? With no incentive…anything could happen."

"You could destroy me," Felicity laughed, the sound very hollow in her ears. "You're _Moira Queen._ You could fire me, ruin my career, keep me from ever doing anything but bagging groceries until I die. That's not someone to play with."

Moira weighed her once more, and again Felicity felt herself jerked back to the café. When she blinked she could see Oliver analyzing her, deciding whether to agree to work for this strange woman and her even stranger request.

"Thank you, Ms. Smoak, for your time," Moira said, like she had set up this whole meeting to begin with. It seemed more like genuine thanks than a dismissal.

"I didn't want there to be any doubts. And it would be a poor way to thank Oliver, after how much he's helped me." Felicity tried to give a pleasant smile, but it felt a little forced. Moira regarded her for another long moment, then strode back to her desk.

"Good to know," Moira said as she sat down, and this time Felicity knew it was time for her to leave.

She returned to her desk several floors down and sat there quietly as she contemplated that being the last time she would ever speak to one of the Queens.

* * *

In the middle of February Felicity decided to call her mother. The bleary sadness in her chest wouldn't go away and she figured that her mother would be a good distraction if nothing else. Donna was perky when she answered, instantly chattering away about fun, inconsequential, not Oliver things. Felicity found herself smiling along with her, talking to continue the conversation and not just to humor her mother. The last few months had worn Felicity's piety down to the point of understanding Donna a little more than she had wanted to before the holidays.

After a while, though, Donna brought up the subject of Oliver. "How is he? Did you scare him off of your driving after Hanukkah?"

Felicity laughed, touched that her mother was trying. "No, no, he gladly got in the car with me after. Better than walking, anyways."

"He doesn't have a car, right?"

"No, he doesn't." Or, he hadn't when he lived in the renovated industrial district. Who knew how many cars he now owned at the Queen Mansion.

Felicity was quiet a moment, her smile feeling emptier by the second.

"Oliver and I…we're on a bit of a break."

"What?" Donna asked, sucking in a breath. She sounded alarmed, but not judgmental. She wasn't demanding what Felicity had done _this_ time, wasn't pumping for details about how Oliver was the monster she had guessed him to be. There was just shock and sympathy. Felicity closed her eyes, thankful that she had someone like her mother in her life.

"What happened?" Donna pressed, voice softer in her concern. "Did anything…?"

"We just…drifted apart."

By a few social circles and a couple billion dollars. But that was just what Felicity had planned from the beginning. She had told Oliver that right in the café. They would naturally move on like couples sometimes did. An easy out for her great, crazy plan. And it was still a great plan, start to finish, it worked out beautifully. It was only the stuff after that didn't work out. That was probably why the lie came so easily to her tongue.

"We decided…it would be better to put things on hold for a while."

Donna was silent for a rare moment, then said, "I'm sorry, honey. I could see how much you liked him."

Thank goodness the rest of the world hadn't. Felicity hadn't known what she would do when Oliver officially reappeared, but even when she saw the news of his Verdant reveal she hadn't had a plan. She had been coasting along, praying clear shots of his face remained notably absent from the news. She didn't have the strength to tell the whole tale, especially not to her mother. Or the rest of her family. Or her co-workers or strangers or the world. She didn't want anyone to see their microcosm of a relationship and interpret it all wrong.

"I just…forget sometimes, is all. I keep waiting until I can see him again, and then…I remember there _is_ no seeing him again."

Felicity closed her eyes against her own words, suddenly wanting to go sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...know that it's essentially the same as what Oliver's been doing.


	20. it's the happiest season of all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end. I hope and I pray that it is every bit as satisfying an end as you crave, and I also want to thank you all for the wonderful, wonderful response you have given this dumb little rom com of a story. I've truly loved writing it and sharing it with you, and I'm delighted that it's managed to touch people in ways beyond a satisfying romance. Thank you all, but especially thank you once again to the darling Bess, who edited this when I was stressed and writing as fast as humanly possible, and who has been with me all the way.
> 
> Please enjoy the final chapter of 'it's the most wonderful time of the year'.

Three months. Time had always been fluid for Oliver, a senseless stream of day after day until he blinked and realized part of his life had passed before his eyes.

Blink. He was twenty. Blink. He had mourned his father for almost six months. Blink. He hadn't seen his family in five years. Blink. He hadn't seen Felicity in so, so long.

Maybe that was just the basic nature of running, of going so fast and so far that the world around him blurred and couldn't keep up. He would lose some things heartbeats and miles and years before he realized how much he needed to keep them.

But now three months had passed since he had said goodbye to Felicity in the hospital cafeteria. He missed her, he needed her, he loved her, and he was tired of making himself exist without her. Even if she decided that this was too much, that she could not be connected to a Queen, he needed to know that he had at least _tried._ He needed to know that he was no longer running.

When he called a family meeting, everyone looked worried. He stood before his mother and Thea in one of the parlors, trying to ignore their anxious looks. Diggle stood in the doorway, acting under the pretense of needing to know catastrophic news that might affect the family. He didn't need to say anything for Oliver to know he was actually there for moral support.

Diggle had been decent enough to let the subject of Felicity rest after it had first been brought it up. He recognized that Oliver was in no way ready to deal with it. He probably recognized that Oliver was new and inexperienced with dealing with things in general. But when Oliver had announced he was going to try to fix things with Felicity, Diggle had given a proud smile and asked, "Alright, what do you want me to do?"

Oliver didn't know how to express that the offer of support was all he had ever needed from Diggle.

"Oliver…what is this about?" Moira asked, leaning forward slightly on the sofa. Thea glanced at her mother, then glanced back at Oliver. She still hadn't quite learned how to mask her emotions, as naked worry spread across her face. Oliver tilted his head back as he stood before them, wondering how this was about to play out.

"Lately, I've been thinking about what I want to do next."

"Like what? Build a new homeless shelter, or…?" Thea asked, letting her question trail away. She looked almost scared, the thought of him leaving them again heavy in her mind.

Oliver shook his head. "These last months have been a sort of testing ground for what I want to do. Everything I've done has been good and worthwhile, but I don't…" Oliver swallowed then pushed on, not giving himself time to question or doubt or backtrack. He was going to do this. "I don't necessarily want to do it as a Queen."

"I don't understand."

His mother stared at him, eyes digging into his. She carried the edge of steel in her voice that Oliver imagined her opponents must have heard after they delivered damaging news. He stood straight, though, because he was not an opponent, he was her son and he had every right to stand his ground and not compromise because finally, finally, this was his life. He was the one shaping it, not his family, not his past, and certainly not his guilt.

"The Queen name is a powerful tool. It has helped me with almost anything I need, but it also…is not necessarily the thing I want to be branded under."

"What're you saying, Ollie? Are you going to leave us again? Are you quitting the family?" Thea's voice had gone high from stress, making her sound so, so young. He looked at her, praying she could see the reassurance in his eyes.

"I'm saying that these philanthropic efforts I have been making are something I want to continue. Only, I want to continue them as _Oliver,_ not the heir to the Queen throne."

"And how are you planning on doing that?" Moira said, pulling herself back behind her neat business persona. She tilted her head like she was appraising his potential bargain, sizing up how much of a struggle he would give. The thin line of her mouth said that she knew he would fight her for all of the billions he was worth.

"I want to start my own company."

He waited, head held high as he watched his mother and his sister. They were both surprised, probably having expected estrangement and disassociation to yet again have been the terms of his deal. Thea blinked like she was trying to process his words, while Moira's face was completely blank.

"Start…your own company?" Thea glanced at her mother for affirmation. "To do _what?_ "

"Keep fixing the city. Keep fixing every city. I don't want to be the only one profiting from my money and connections. While I was gone I saw horrible things, people just not caring because they didn't get anything out of helping another person. I can't change everything, but I want to at least show people that they don't _have_ to suffer."

"What are you thinking?" Thea asked.

Oliver reflexively stiffened, expecting her to mock and criticize him. Words like ' _you're barely more than a train wreck yourself, Ollie,'_ or _'_ you _are not the person to help people'_ paraded through his head before he realized she was waiting for his response.

"Rehabilitation centers, public clinics, homeless shelters, soup kitchens. Anything that can help people with their problems. Then, once we have our feet under us, more general programs that can help people across the country. Anything from scholarships to training to trauma recovery. I can do _so much,_ I don't want to stop with only helping me."

Oliver watched his mother, who had dropped her gaze to her hands. She smoothed her skirt to buy herself a little more time, then looked up at him. He couldn't read her sharp blue eyes.

"So what does this have to do with not being 'branded under the Queen name'?"

"I don't want it to be a subsidiary of Queen Consolidated. I want this to be my own company, my own endeavor. I don't want people to be turned away because it's another rich kid's cheap trick to look good. I want people to trust that what I'm doing is good."

"So it would be yours and not the Queen family's?"

"Yes."

"That's…that's really cool, Ollie," Thea said, breaking into a grin. He looked at her in surprise, not sure what to do with the pride in her eyes. She was beaming at him, delighted by his news. Moira was more reserved, still weighing the cost of his proposal like any good business woman.

_If only she were a mother first,_ Oliver thought bitterly, then caught himself. In that moment, Moira Queen was most likely not weighing out property and images and dollars, but distance and personal time and affection. He had cut her off once and she would be a fool if she carelessly gave him the tools to do it again.

"So this…would be do something you did entirely by yourself? No help, no influence, no…nothing from me?"

Thea froze at their mother's words, cutting a nervous glance at Oliver.

" _No,"_ he said hurriedly, raising his hands. "No, I'm not removing _me_ from you two, just my business. I don't want to leave you two, I love you."

Moira broke into a smile, finally disarmed by the candid confession of love. "Alright, Oliver. I promised I would help you before and that still stands. Tell me what you need."

Oliver glanced up at Diggle, finally daring to look away from his family. The man was giving him a wide smile, glad to see the Queens finally understand each other. When Oliver left the mansion twenty minutes later, Diggle fell instep beside him.

"So what's your plan now? How does Felicity fit into this?"

Oliver turned back to Diggle, taking in the spread of the mansion grounds as he went. His old home didn't seem like chains or regulations anymore. They were opportunities and options that were all his to take.

"I didn't see a way to be Oliver Queen with her," he told Diggle, the final pieces of his plan clicking together. "She…there was no way I could put her through the hell that is the public eye, that's why she left. So now I've changed things. I'm going to change the world and make it better by making myself better, and now I'm going to and find her and get her to take me back. Plus...you were right."

Diggle smirked openly at Oliver's confession, but pushed on. "Aren't you still concerned about the public eye, though?"

Oliver swung himself onto his motorcycle and picked up his helmet. He tossed Diggle a grin.

"No one cares about people who don't get drunk and buy hotels so they can go skinny dipping in the lobby's fountain."

Diggle laughed as Oliver pulled on his helmet. Diggle put his hands on his hips with the smile still in place, shaking his head like he was too impressed and pleased point out that was what he'd been saying for over five years.

Oliver revved his engine, making Diggle wave his hand as if to shoo him off the property.

"Go try to get your girl back, Queen. It's about time you realized you earned it."

* * *

Oliver sent the text in the middle of the day. His hand shook and his stomach was tight and he felt his heartbeat running under every inch of skin. But he was the master of himself and he got the text out.

_please meet me tomorrow at 4:15 at the myrtle st bus stop._

He felt self-conscious, checking the message over and over and over again, taking care that it be perfect. As perfect as he could make this miserable situation.

Despite what he had said to Diggle at the mansion, Oliver didn't quite feel deserving of this chance. He had let Felicity go, he had not fought to make her stay. Because even though _she_ had been the one to leave him at the hospital, he had been the one that hadn't searched for an answer that required more work than walking out of the hospital. He had let things stand in silence.

What did she think of him? Would she be angry that he was calling her back now, would she be pleased? Had she seen the things he had been doing, would she care? How much did philanthropy balance on a scale he had weighed with cowardice and selfishness?

He prayed she would meet him. She didn't respond or acknowledge his message in the slightest, but he hoped desperately that she would at least give him another chance. He was still Oliver, flawed and damaged in all the ways he had been before, but...she had still liked him, right? Would she still think he was the same despite the designer labels and the face in the papers and the long chilly absence between them?

Oliver sat at the bus stop, leg bouncing up and down as he waited. A steady drizzle slicked the streets, gliding garbage and grit away. Starling always sparkled in the rain, a melancholic beauty he had missed for all those years he had been gone.

He checked his watch and made his leg stop moving. Just a few more minutes of waiting. He had done worse in the last three months and they had all led to something better. There was some foundation to hoping the rule would hold.

He glanced around, watching people trek past. They were entirely uninterested in the man at the bus stop, not taking the moment to match his face to the papers and internet sites. He loved the anonymity of his city, how it let him be free in a way plane tickets and bus rides and new names had not.

Oliver checked his phone, in case he had missed a call or text. He hadn't.

He grumpily stuffed his phone back into his pocket and resumed bouncing his leg. He needed to relax. He needed to breathe, to calm down, to _wait—_

Oliver's phone buzzed in his pocket, making him choke in surprise. He checked the screen, heart in his mouth as he registered the name.

" _Felicity?"_ he asked, not even bothering to hide the tension in his voice. He closed his eyes as she spoke, the ache in his chest peaking for a brief moment.

"Uhm, Oliver, hey. I…wasn't sure if I should call you."

"Why? Did you get my text?"

" _Yes,_ " she sighed, and all of the things she _didn't_ say put a fist around his spin. "I wasn't certain if you texted the right person to be honest. I mean, I wasn't even sure it was _you,_ despite the fact my phone _said_ it was you…" She had kept him in her phone, just as he had. "But…meeting at a bus stop seemed…I dunno."

He closed his eyes again. He had prepared speeches and treaties and pleas for her, but he suddenly found himself mute.

"Why…why a bus stop?" she asked, straining for casual. Oliver swallowed, at first pulling out the cool, strong mask he needed, but then setting it back down. He was tired of hiding things from Felicity.

"I'm—I guess I'm just trying to figure out where to go next and I was hoping…you could help."

Felicity didn't speak, making his stomach turn. Silence from someone that talked so much felt wrong in the most fundamental ways.

"Does that mean you're not coming?" he asked. Oliver didn't actually want an answer, just in case she said yes, but he needed to fill the space between them.

"I don't know," she said, and Felicity sounded every bit as scared as he felt. "What are you looking for, Oliver?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know what you're _expecting._ Everything seemed so clear in the hospital, it—it—it made _sense_ then, it sucked but it made sense. But now you're calling me up when I should probably be _no one_ to you and I don't get it. I—what's the point, Oliver?"

He bit his cheek, hating the doubt in her voice, the honest disbelief that this could be real.

"I never wanted to let you go," he whispered.

"But you did. _We_ did. We had to. You and I…I didn't really _fit_ into your new life, not with the way everyone would react. We both know that it's fine."

"It's _not_ ," he bit out, and he knew he had shocked her with the hard edge in his voice. "Felicity, it's _not_. I let you go because I didn't see a way to make us work, I didn't look, I didn't fight for it. But I want to fight for us, Felicity. I want to _keep us._ You didn't fit into the Queen lifestyle, no, but I didn't, either. There are other ways to do things and I can't…I've had so little good in my life, I've _made_ so little good. And that's something that I've been changing."

"Yeah, you've been doing humanitarian work lately, I've seen in the papers."

" _We_ were the first good thing I made," he told her, setting his final big truth into her hands.

Felicity was silent, the sound of the city around her filtering through his speaker.

"But that doesn't—your family—the same things apply," she said, as if desperate to find reason in the moment, to temper the hope pushing its way up Oliver's insides and expanding his ribs.

"No, Felicity. It took me _three months_ to realize this, but I've spent so long thinking that Oliver Queen broke everything he touched and Oliver Dearden runs from everything that gets too close, but _you…_ you and me, that happened and it's good and I didn't run away. And, Felicity, I _swear_ I will never forgive myself if I break this by not trying to keep it safe."

Felicity was quiet for so long that he thought she had hung up. He needed her to answer, needed her to tell him if she was willing to start again and really _try._

"Are you sure?" she breathed, a terrified plea in the sodden trudge of the city.

" _Yes,_ Felicity, I'm sure. This can work, _we can work._ If you want us to, I promise you we can make this work."

"Oliver, look up at me."

Oliver jerked his head up, scrambling to his feet and staring in all directions. And then there she was, bright pink coat, sleek ponytail, phone pressed against her ear at the end of the block. As he watched, she clutched the phone to her chest in wordless prayer.

He broke into an enormous, breathlessly relieved grin and strode to her, not caring about the drizzle falling onto his head and shoulders. Felicity flickered an uncertain smile and walked toward him, but as she got closer the smile grew until she was beaming.

He grabbed her into a hug, barely believing that she was in his arms, that her sweet scent was in his nose, that her teary laugh was in his ear.

"I never thought I'd see you again, I thought we wouldn't happen, oh my gosh Oliver I never thought I'd _see_ you again!"

"No, no, I'm here, I'm here, Felicity I love you, I'm here."

She held him tight, and he could feel her tears against his neck but she was laughing and it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. Oliver closed her eyes as he held her, hand pressed to the back of her head, holding her as tight as he dared. He had Felicity back. All his mistakes and stumbles and yet she had still wanted to come back.

He set her down and she wiped at her eyes. She was still laughing, the light of her smile knocking back the rain. Oliver held her shoulders and kissed her, and for a moment, he swore he could taste sunshine.


End file.
